Aweary 2 Zippy
by Bellatrixbeauty
Summary: A to Z with D. Gray-Man oneshots. Instances of life as it is and could have been when dealing with the complicated task that is life. Starring Allen Walker/OC. New chapter E is for Eve.
1. Chapter 1

**BB says: **Okay, when I said I may create a sequel to my fan fiction _Bring the Snow _it was one of my crazier moments. I thought to myself "hey. Lets create some oneshots instead. That'll keep the fans from throwing potatoes!" And it didn't . But I wrote some oneshots anyway.

**Rating: **It'll vary, but this one is Teen.

**Disclaimer: **I do not own any part of the manga/anime _D. Gray-Man._

**A is for AVERAGE.**

It was _their _table because it had been _their _table for the entire time. Since they had stumbled into Woodland High as freshmen and flocked to the courtyard, they had sat in the same seats. But of course that wouldn't really matter in ten years. Their guidance counselors were adamant about that. That someday each and every student in a school with some of the lowest graduation rates in the county would go on to a busy life of success that would occupy every second of their time. That who they meet here, in these worn halls with the squeaky lockers would quickly be replaced by more affluent and professional associates.

They still had a week to go, but the first arrival at the table still ran her fingers on the marked surface, as though trying to engrain the feel of high school on her fingers. The smell of sweaty teenagers, cheap cologne, and textbook pages. The cement yard full of tables and liter, gum stuck to the brick walls of the school that surrounded it and the vending machines that were broken more often than not.

She hated it here, that much was certain, had hated it since that first day. But she knew herself. She knew that she would come to long for the simple days of high school in the years to come as her life grew more complex and complicated. Because she was throwing herself full throttle into the ferocities of the world after this, hoping to rip this old skin of the little country girl from rural South Carolina.

"Tazzy boo!" Ah. Her girls were here.

Eyes lifted from their reverie, flecks of purple catching the sunlight as she watched the two young women approach.

One was short, standing at a mere five four with a huge, bright smile. She had long brown hair and light brown skin courtesy of her Hispanic heritage. Her eyes were a lovely hazel, set in her round face as pudgy hands adjusted the straps on her tank top. It was odd seeing Maya out of her typical halter, but at least she was wearing the large gold earrings that were her staple and the pumps that she claimed invalidity without.

The other was tall and lean, a dark shadow dressed in bright colors as she wove across the courtyard. Although leggings were forbidden, she wore bright orange as though challenging the teachers to act (like they never did) along with a large, ornate, roca wear shirt. It hung off her shoulders loosely, showing off her white bra straps and smooth coffee bean skin. Her hair was an intricate bird nest piled on her head, red strands dyed in kool-aid woven throughout. Her Grecian style sandals, white, showed off the tipped toes that matched her manicure.

"Taz! What'cha doin' over here, _chica_? The party's happenin' across the yard!" Maya gestured with one hand, bracelets jingling and rings flashing. "Come on! You ain't gone yet! There's still fine-ass men for you here!" Asia nodded her noble head and touched her most recent piecing. It was in her eyebrow. "I still can't believe you're leavin'. Who's gonna watch Dmitri while I'm at work?" Taz rolled her eyes playfully at the question. Everyone knew how much she loved Asia's two year old. "I'll come visit once in a while."

"You'd better, bitch." Asia smiled her slight smile while Maya pouted. "New York's too far. Why can't you go to community with me?" There were several things Taz could say in relation to that statement, the main point being that she desperately needed to escape the confines of their home town. "They don't have the courses I want. My dream university specializes in studying abroad. It'll be good for my major."

"So major in something else. You could be a teacher with me or a nurse with Asia." The taller girl snorted. "Like I want her clumsy ass in the same hospital as me." Maya laughed. "Be nice! You so mean!" She turned back to her quiet friend, whose hand had yet to leave their old table. "Come on! You gotta shake that sexy ass before graduation!" She dragged Taz into the throbbing circle of their peers to watch the current dance match.

Fierce, young bodies circled each other, their movements creative and perfectly timed as they showed off their skill with the bold pride that came from expertise. The music was loud, felt in Taz's very bones, a hard base and a deep voice barking out lyrics of a slummed life and its woes. It was only a matter of time before administrators finally acted out of the fear that it would evolve into a fight, so the trio moved to the center, egging on the competitors and waiting for a chance to jump in.

"_Say you'll miss us."_

"_I've said it for days."_

"_We just like hearin' it."_

"_Bye guys."_

"_Wait! You have to comfort me since me and Leon broke up! How will I ever find another?"_

"_Go outside and swing a cat."_

The bus ride to New York was every bit as hassling and tiresome as Taz thought it would be, full of bumps and drags and smelly people leaning on her shoulder for a nap. One man, traveling from North Carolina to Virginia, had the audacity to _drool._

Her arrival, after what felt like an eternity of jostling and scowling, wasn't nearly as thrilling as one might assume. Travel weary and cranky, the young woman could barely hail a cab to take her onto the campus, much less heft her trunk up the three flights to her dorm. She had sent essentials -sheets, toiletries, a small refrigerator- through the mail and was expected to retrieve them from the school's main office, although she was willing to collapse onto her bare mattress and sleep for a year.

Apparently, she did.

She was woken up eight hours later by the sound of, deep, mournful sobbing just outside her door. It burst open to revel a hassled looking young woman desperately pushing at the dark haired man who had wrapped himself around her legs.

He was crying in Mandarin.

"Get off me Komui!" With the strength of someone twice her size, the girl slammed her free foot into the man's head, sending him soaring out of their room. She slammed the door in his face, ignoring his yowls.

She turned to Taz after taking a deep breath, a sweet smile on her face and warmth in her deep blue eyes. It was only then that she was recognizable from her profile online.

"Hi," she chirped, still ignoring the banished Komui's whimpers. "I'm Lenalee Lee. You're Zahara Nyne from South Carolina, right?" Taz nodded, straightening her clothes as best she could. "My friends call me Taz." Lenalee's smile widened. "Are you asking me to be your friend? I'd love too!" She helped Taz to stand off her bed. Her hands were small and warm, just like the girl herself. She only came to Taz's shoulder.

"Do you need any help moving in, Taz? I noticed that it's kinda empty in here." The Chinese girl had already settled in, pink sheets on her neatly made bed, a lime green chair in front of her desk (matching the lime green laptop), and posters of some boy band on her side of the room. A trunk, two duffle bags, and a large suitcase sat by the door.

"I didn't bring much," the South Carolinian responded, eyeing all the belongs of her roomie "I can handle it. It's in the main office." Lenalee looked a bit horrified. "The main office? That's like a mile away! Come on, I brought my moped. We can stop for coffee on the way! I totally swiped my brother's credit card." And just like that, Taz was best friends with the good natured girl from New York.

Said sweetheart sent another kick to Komui (later revealed to be her older brother who refused to let her go), knocking him out properly.

Taz spent her last few days before class searching for a job in the city, submitting resumes and calling numbers until her fingers lost all feeling. She was given a considerable amount of money from grants and scholarships, but wanted extra cash to fall back on for essentials or in case her ancient laptop finally decided to die. The fact that Lenalee had a vehicle kept her in Taz's hair, and soon they were looking for work together, joining their efforts in the hope that they were more powerful as a team.

The Chinese girl was quite the talker, and before long Taz knew all about her lavish life in Chinatown, her obsessively loving scientist brother, her boyfriend who happened to go to Julliard. Whenever they stopped for coffee she paid, and while Taz was a bit insulted that the girl was insinuating that she had less money, she would never pass up anything free. The girl was all rainbows and sunshine, easily complementary to Taz's somewhat reclusive nature.

Perhaps that was why a good intentioned woman named Miranda hired them for her department store. Their back and forth, Lenalee proclaiming peace, love, and kittens, while Taz shot butterflies from the sky, must have been very amusing.

The same dynamic worked on campus, people attracted to the odd couple living in room 309 of the girl's dorm. Two pretty young women who were not to be messed with and yet welcomed people with open arms (Lenalee). Their fellow students found them charming, an unspoken charisma secreted from their room, and although Taz put effort into pushing others away, Lenalee was continuously drawing them in and offering them cookies.

"_She sounds like a rainbow's caught in her cooch."_

"_She's a nice girl. And at least she hasn't pissed me off with some bullshit."_

"_Were you really so worried you'd get an uppity prep bitch?"_

"_You have no idea."_

It was cold. Every breath was a puff of mist in front of Taz's face as she made her way down the abandoned streets. Sirens were heard in the distance but she paid them no mind, already in her nice warm bed with Lenalee snoring softly from across the room.

The young Asian was ill at the moment, catching what she called her "annual snuffles" and too congested to breathe deep without coughing. She was forced to call in sick and encouraged Taz to do the same. Upon accepting their jobs at the store in the less savory part of town, they had agreed that neither would work without the other out of safety, that a lone young woman walking down the street was blood in the water.

And sharks were bound to pop up.

The compromise had worked until this point, with Lenalee sick and Ms. Miranda, going to Germany for a funeral. There was no one else to watch the store and Taz felt it was her duty to not only go in, but pull overtime to cover all the holes in the schedule.

With Lenalee insisting she both charge and bring her normally forgotten cell, Taz went to work.

She was now exhausted and it was late, her thin jacket refusing to protect her in the encroaching chill. They didn't have cold this time of year in South Carolina, and she was completely unprepared. Even her afro, a style she'd adopted after quitting braids in middle school, wasn't able to hold warmth close to her skull. She would have to ask her Auntie Klaud to send up her marshmallow jacket. .

Shadows convulsed in front of her, disappearing down an alley where the street light had gone dark. Though Taz stiffened, she didn't investigate. It was none of her business, and a few hooligans only acted if eye contact was established.

The sound of flesh hitting flesh was followed by a yelp, the voice carrying in the cold air. With no one else on the sidewalk, Taz knew that aid was far off and would possibly be too late. Not that is was any of her business.

It came again, but this time the yelp muffled into a moan, knees colliding with cement as the person fell to their knees. Voices rose, mocking, as the hiss of air moving past fabric told the lonesome girl they were kicking their victim.

Very little could get under Taz's skin after her mama died. The older woman had been abusing drugs for a long time, whoring herself out for money and then spending it all on alcohol and cheap baubles. Taz had gone without much of her young life, watching her mother drink and gamble their money away. She swore to herself that she would never be like that, that she was destined for more then the shallow love of strangers and the empty comfort from substance abuse. When Mercedes Nyne was found dead from overdose, Auntie Klaud had taken her daughter and raised her beside her younger cousin, Tim.

But the life of poverty and abuse under her mother had already marred the twelve year old Zahara, old beyond her years and unshakable in the face of danger. Very little could scare her, and her scrappy nature kept her confident and smooth.

But if one thing could still get to her, could inflame the hairs on the back of her neck and boil her temper in her gut, it was jumping people. When three or more teamed up on one person. It was unfair, cowardly, and weak; when it had been tried on her personally she took great pride in kicking all their asses with stamina to spare.

But the person in the alley was losing, cornered by a gang, and Taz couldn't stand it.

She didn't realize she'd spun in her flats until she was upon them, reminding the world why she was called Taz. Her movements were sporadic and powerful, spinning on the balls of her feet and lashing out with toes and fists alike. She was faster than her sturdy build suggested, more powerful than one would suspect of a young woman, and she viciously raked her nails across surprised faces.

These boys, four in all, had obviously never seen a real, gritty fight before, accustomed to throwing brute force instead of skill at their enemies. They were shocked and a bit afraid of the wild girl who had appeared before them, eyes aflame and teeth snarling. She fought like she'd taught herself long ago, tongue forgetting that she'd left her razorblade in the South and searching her mouth for the weapon. She used to carry it hidden in her gums for occasions such as this.

But she didn't need it. These assholes weren't shit compared to the real fighters one met in the rundown neighborhood she'd come from.

"Crazy bitch," the boys were splayed out across the alley, defeated, but one still tried to stand. He was holding a gun. "I'll kill yo-" she slammed her foot into his face, relishing in the wet snap of bone as he went down. "Shut up and stay down, ass-fuck."

She walked over to the cornered victim, now seeing he was a young man around her age. Big eyes gazed up at her and the damage she'd wrought, his arm clutched his stomach and his small package on the ground in front of him. There was a line of blood on his face, dripping down an older scar that ran from his brow to his cheek.

"You all right?" Taz asked gruffly, extending a hand. He looked at her hand dumbly, irritating her. "You deaf or somethin'? I've got better things to do than wait for you to get up." Her voice snapped him out of his thoughts and the boy stumbled to his feet, wincing a bit. He may have a bruised rib or two, but if he'd broken one he'd do a lot more than wince.

"What brings you to this part of town?" Now that she had the boy under a functioning streetlight, their paths in the same direction, she could see what made him desirable to thieves. He was obviously more groomed than most of the residents of the area, his long hair -not blonde, but _white_- was very clean, his clothes expensive looking and his shoes the brand one had to sell their car to buy. Even the way he carried himself spoke of wealth and breeding, as he stood tall despite his obvious injuries and projected pride in the very way he strode. There was something soft about his face, despite the large scar, and his blue eyes were naturally amiable as they looked at Taz.

_Soft, _her mental voice was sneering _more dumpling than man._

"Oh! Um, this." He had a thick English accent, yet another odd detail for this area, and he handed her his package with no qualms. "Piano strings. I broke one earlier like a silly git." Not interested and confused as to what the Hell a "git" was, Taz tossed the box back and the boy stumbled to catch it. "Some say that's bad luck."

"I'm not superstitious."

"Apparently you should be. This ain't the place to wander into." The boy huffed, but his face was sheepish. "I know. I just…I heard the local music shop was one of the best. And I figured that if I had to fix the piano, it should be with only the best." She accepted his answer silently, their footsteps echoing on the empty street. Realizing she wasn't going to respond, he kept talking.

"My name is Allen Walker, by the by. I apologize for not introducing myself sooner; that was rather rude of me." Had they not been walking, Taz knew he would offer her his hand. After a few seconds of silence she decided he could know her name. "Zahara. Taz, if you want." Allen smiled brightly. "Well thank you Miss, er, Taz. I don't know how I would've gotten out of that situation otherwise."

"You wouldn't have."

"Oh. Well, thank you squared."

"Don't mention it," she glared at him out of the corner of her eyes. "To _anyone._ I left that girl home when I came here." She was a new girl now, starting over with a fresh reputation and a clean slate. She sought to become a scholar, someone who used words to fight instead of her fists. If word got around that she'd been a walking nightmare back home it could sully her chances of bettering herself.

"Nevertheless," Allen didn't seem fazed. She sighed. "If you insist." A taxi rolled around the corner, quickly approaching the two walkers. Allen held out his hand. "Cabby! Excuse me! Cabby!" They drove right past him. Taz sighed through her nose again, taking off her shoe and throwing it with deadly accuracy. It slammed into vehicle's back windshield, doing no damage but grabbing the driver's attention.

"What the fuck, bitch?" he yelled. Taz gestured rudely with her hand before speaking. "This guy needs you to get him home, idiot! Or do you not want his money?" They glared at each other before the man finally sat down and turned his car around. Allen looked at Taz with both amusement and surprise.

"Was that truly necessary?"

"You want to get home, don't cha?"

The taxi pulled up beside them and threw the shoe back at Taz from his open window. Allen opened the back door and smiled at her, extending his hand. "Are you coming?" She raised an eyebrow. "No. It'd be a waste of money." The boy blinked. "I cannot leave a young lady to wander the streets at night." She snarled and crossed her arms. "If you haven't noticed," she snipped "I ain't a lady. Get your prissy butt back to wherever you came from."

The young man had determination in his eyes. "But I owe you."

"Whatever."

"No, really. If you ever need anything-"

"I won't."

"Come to Julliard. Practice Room 109 on the eastern side of the campus." Taz twitched awkwardly. She'd honestly didn't want to accept the boy's offer, but the look in his eyes was stubborn; he wouldn't leave otherwise. "Fine," she snapped "go away now. I'm sure the meter's running." His eyes were on her as he told the driver his destination. "Be safe, Taz." She spat as they turned the corner.

"_Oh, so you some sorta hero now?"_

"_No. They just pissed me off. I hate assholes like that."_

"_Good to see you can still tear ass. Don't you go soft on us!"_

"_Please. Remember when I took down Rashanda and all her cousins?"_

"_It was when I first realized we were girls for life."_

"Aren't you excited?" Taz shrugged, tearing into her slice of pizza. "No. Not really." Lenalee gaped. "Seriously? You got one of the highest grades on the midterm! Show a little more enthusiasm."

"Don't wanna."

"You're just doing it to annoy me."

"Pretty much." The girl pouted at her difficult friend, taking a sip of her diet soda. They sat in a little pizzeria off time square, Lenalee insisting on treating Taz in celebration of her accomplishments.

Hey. Free food.

"Fine. If you don't care, I don't care."

"Okay then." They sat in silence for all of five seconds before Lenalee was bouncing and squealing again. "Third in the whole class! You're so amazing!" Taz sighed to cover her pleasure, listening to her friend gush. This girl was good for her, even if she had yet to realize just how much their friendship had come to mean.

"Oh my God, no way!" A break in the drabble caused Taz to pay attention, Lenalee waving over her shoulder and out the window.

She turned in her seat to see what had excited the Chinese girl so, and noticed a young man with bright red hair waving back before entering the restaurant. He took a seat beside Lenalee like it was the most natural thing in the world, planting a very loud, very comical kiss on her smiling face.

"Lavi! What are you doing here?" The man grinned a wolfish grin at his girlfriend, reaching up to unconsciously adjust the pencil behind his ear. "I can sense beauty a mile way, babe. And with this much in one area I knew it could only be one person." Lenalee giggled and accepted a kiss on the lips.

Lavi Vaughan was a celebrated young artist, his paintings already the talk of the art world. A new Michelangelo, they called him, with the looks of David and the arrogance of Da Vinci. With a strong chin, charismatic grin, and finely tanned skin, he was ruggedly handsome despite the eye he'd lost as a child. He'd been shot by a B.B. gun.

Tattoos covered much of his body, peace signs and dragons and koi fish peeking out from his sleeves and neckline. A green bandanna held back his fire engine hair and showed off the small gold hoops in his ears.

"That reminds me!" Taz returned after ordering for Lavi. He'd offered to do it himself, but she preferred to let the couple have a moment alone. Lavi's grandfather was a celebrated author who wanted Lavi to focus on his art more than his girl. Lenalee's brother openly threatened to kill any boy who looked at her twice. With two crazy relatives between them they rarely got time alone. This was only the second time Taz had seen the guy after Lenalee introduced him months ago.

"Allen was jumped a few weeks ago." Taz nearly dropped the plate with Lavi's pizza, eyes widening.

"Oh my God! Is he okay?"

"Yeah," Taz's stumble had gone unnoticed " like I said, it was a while ago. Although he just told me yesterday, the little shit. Couple of Crows thought his piano strings were actually something important. It got pretty nasty, apparently and some girlhad to come to his rescue. I'll be teasing him for weeks." A wistful smile was on his face, displaying his love for mockery and pranks. "A girl?" Lenalee tried to coax out more of a story.

"Huh? Oh yeah! She pulled a Batman. No weapons, no help, all ass kickery." Lenalee's eyes widened before darting to Taz. "What did she look like?"

"Oh, I don't know. He said she was short." Lenalee frowned. "That's not specific. Allen's taller than most women." Lavi scoffed. "Barely." His girlfriend punched him in the arm. "Ow! Okay! Afro. Frowny. Quick on her feet." Lenalee was looking at Taz earnestly now, as though she expected the girl to fall to her knees and confess to some crime. Instead she shoved another bit of pizza into her mouth.

"Kinda scary, if you think about it. Female ninjas runnin' around. I wonder if I could round up a few for some nude paintings." Lenalee reintroduced Lavi to her iron fist of love.

"_He snitched? You shoulda killed him."_

"_Maya!"_

"_Kidding. Sort of. You should kick his ass though."_

"…_I'll pay him a visit."_

"The Practice rooms. East." The man behind the desk looked at Taz with barely concealed disdain for her appearance, old faded jeans and a weather beaten sweater. She'd worn the same tennis shoes she'd worn for the past two years, ratty and ripping in places, a hair band the only thing taming the well kept poof on her head.

"We have maps for visitors," he had decided that she was unworthy of any other response and turned back to his computer.

"It'll go faster if you just give me directions."

"As I said, we have maps."

"It's not like you're helping anyone else right now."

"I'm a receptionist, not a tour guide." Taz held back a burst of temper and turned in mock defeat. "You're right. Sorry to bother you." She walked a few feet before speaking again. "Actually, do you know where I can get a map?" The man huffed at being interrupted, not bothering to look at the girl. "Anywhere on campus. Most choose the cafeteria."

"The cafeteria? That's left when I leave here, right?"

"No. A left will take you to practice rooms." He didn't realize he'd helped her, and Taz felt all the more victorious for it.

The campus was beautiful, with artfully designed buildings and wide walkways. Artwork by the school's students littered the way with an equal amount of bikes and mopeds parked and chained to poles. Students poured over sheets of music Taz had no hope of ever reading and pointed to discrepancies she couldn't see. She received more than a few curious looks, some innocently questioning, others judging, as she made her way to the building ahead.

The foyer to the building was surprisingly quiet for being surrounded in practice rooms. There was no one moving about but the young woman could feel their presence, bodies curled around their respective instruments as they carefully read their notes, imitating the greats. She wished that she could hear them, only for a moment, because she knew they must make the most beautiful music when freed.

The door to room 109 was on the first floor, its single window covered in blinds. Taz didn't bother knocking.

She was glad she lacked manners. Because if she'd have knocked, he probably wouldn't stopped playing.

The notes were warm, embracing, bouncing off the walls and echoing through Taz as she entered the room. Graceful hands flew over the keys and, to her astonishment, his eyes were closed, the book of music laying in neglect on top of his bag. She leaned back on the wall, listening for a moment before she closed her eyes as well. It was so amazing, lovely in the way that music was always meant to be. She'd heard classical before, listening through her computer or CD players but it never came through as clear as it was now, live action.

"Miss, er, Taz?" The young woman frowned at the stop in sound, the decidedly British accent cutting through.

"Liszt."

"I'm sorry?"

"Franz Liszt. Un Sospiro." Allen looked surprised, eyes bouncing between sapphires and rain clouds. The window behind him had the curtains pulled back, sunlight wrapping itself in his hair. "Yes. Yes it was." Taz walked further into the room, coming to stand by the large instrument. She couldn't even tell where a string had broken, accredited to the boy's knowledge of the instrument and its maintenance.

"How did you-"

"He's my favorite. I could recognize anything of his." Something akin to mischief flash in Allen's eyes, the sure sign of a dark side. "Really? You're that confident in your knowledge of music?"

"Yes." A smirk curled onto the boy's face. "Shall we place a flutter?"

"Flutter?"

"A bet. I'll play three different songs. If you can tell me what they are, I'll treat you to lunch." Free food. Taz like the sound of that. "And if I lose? Do you want me to ignore the favor you owe me? Or forget that you ran your fat mouth about what I did?" If Allen felt anything like guilt at her accusation he didn't show it. Perhaps he didn't know what "Don't mention it" meant. Dumb ass. The young man kept his face carefully passive, save for a flash of emotion behind his eyes.

"I'm sorry. I didn't think 'anyone' meant one of my closest mates." Taz snarled. "What happens if I lose?"

"You'll owe me a favor. Along with the disappearance of my debt to you." The way he could flip from courteous to morally questionable was astonishing. "Fine." Allen's smile blossomed fully as he held out his hand. Instead of shaking hers, he squeezed it gently, as though worried he would hurt her. In the brief moment when their eyes met, he seemed to leave the room, his mind elsewhere.

His hesitation gave Taz the opportunity to notice the hand in her own, gloveless and revealed. It was deformed, the skin red and leathery, the fingers tipped with nails the color of soot and the flesh on the back twisted and puckered. Seeing her gaze, he reclaimed his hand a bit too quickly.

"What happened?" He jumped at the question, and she wondered if he would snap at her. Some people could be very defensive about their imperfections, lashing out at those who were merely curious and blaming the world for their pain. Taz wasn't sure what to expect from this boy, as he looked at his hand with a neutral expression, flexing the fingers as though he himself was fascinated. This individual who was willing to get beaten up over a few piano strings.

"I was caught in a house fire as a child. I reached for my father and, well," he wriggled his fingers. "The whole thing was quite traumatizing. And dad wound up dead from his burns anyway," he ran his hand through his white hair. She wondered what color it had been before. "And your face?" In for an inch, in for a mile. Allen gave a laugh, his voice weak but the sound full of astonished mirth. "You don't hesitate with the awkward questions, do you?" Taz blinked.

"It was the same fire. I cut myself crawling from the wreckage with my ruined arm. Couldn't even feel how bad it was at the time…" His face fell into contemplation for a moment, the gesture complimentary to his pointed features. Not one for useless fawning or admiration, Taz would never admit how beautiful he was at that moment.

"Alright," he cleared his throat. "Let's leave the past behind us, shall we?"

The song started slow, the notes slowly winding from the piano with careful finesse. Allen's fingers were gentle as he teased the keys, his eyes threatening to fall shut once again. Taz relaxed visibly, leaning against the instrument and watching the stings as they vibrated. It was woefully, and beautiful in its pain, swallowing the world in a world of smooth darkness and deep pools of sorrow.

"Consolidation. Liszt." The boy stopped playing to look at her with hooded eyes. They were grey now. "Correct."

This piece slowly increased in intensity, much faster than the previous. His fingers were blurs as they worked, his body bobbing with the more powerful notes. The sounds danced as they escaped, entwining with each other and laughing playfully. Taz could feel them exploring the room, working through her brain and tangling themselves in her hair. This was a very difficult song, suggested by the slight frown in Allen's brow, but he still worked with a skill that portrayed ease. Show off.

"La Campanella. Liszt."

"Yes," he hummed before slipping into a new melody.

It was smooth and bright, incredibly sweet and fast. It was almost lamenting, like it was proclaiming a pain that ended well, a power that could only be born from agony. It was based in the lower keys that the English boy focused on with flighty light notes sprinkled throughout. The overall effect was that of a call and receive, low shouting to high and gaining an eager response. It was lovely, really, and Taz would have enjoyed it much more had she been able to identify the music.

"That's…" The young woman crinkled her brow together "uh…"

"Hmmmm?" The pianist hummed over his playing. He seemed at ease, sure of his victory. Taz was forced to take a shot in the dark. "Liebestraume?" Allen stopped playing to smirk at her, his eyes narrowed playfully. "You _know _it's not." Taz pouted (she would call it a scowl). "Yes. I know." The boy carried the song to the end before stopping.

"Well then," he stood and put the cover on the piano, squatting to reclaim his bag and coat. "Let's go to lunch." Taz frowned deeper. "I lost."

"Yes. And I've decided to be a good sport and treat you anyway. My favor is rather large, and I admit I may have cheated a bit."

"Cheated?"

"That last piece was Steven Cravis, 'Through the Kaleidoscope.'"

"_What you doin' fuckin' around with that white boy?"_

"_The time when that was unacceptable is over, Asia. And its not like I'm dating him. We're friends…if that."_

"_You know better than that, Taz. Gotta go. Call later, 'kay?"_

"_Yeah. Bye."_

The bouncy dog leapt up the stairs, leash in his mouth as he searched for his master. A maid squealed as he rushed between her legs and made her drop her towels, his waving tail nearly toppling a vase as he rounded a corner. Rushing into a large bedroom, he tackled the young man to the floor as he exited the adjoining bathroom.

Chuckling, Allen shoved the golden retriever off. "Quit it Timcampy, you'll get me dirty!" The dog barked playfully, tail wagging so hard his body shook with the force. Allen used his good hand to scratch the pooch behind the ears. "You know I can't take you for a walk now, of all times." The dog whimpered and licked his hand. "That's not fair! Stop with the puppy eyes!" A moment passed as master and pet held a silent conversation. "Fine. I'll take you on an extra long sojourn tomorrow. Just get off me, mutt!" Sated, Timcampy proceeded to follow Allen to the chair holding his jacket, watching him as he straightened his tie.

The boy struggled to still the shaking in his fingers as they tied back his shaggy hair, his pounding heart behind the lapels of his vest. This restlessness haunted him, had ever since that night in the alley. He no longer had the capacity to concentrate on anything other then the face of his rescuer, from the instant he took her hand and she pulled him from the ground. He'd spent his ride back home thinking about her, the way her face pulled slightly when amused (or angry) and her strong, confident movements even on the darkest of nights.

He didn't know why he'd told Lavi, possibly the biggest mouth on campus. Maybe because somewhere, deep inside, he knew she wouldn't take his betrayal lightly. That she would come looking for him and promptly put him in his place. If he saw her during the day, the theory was that she was lessen in allure, that the lovely face with the stern glare would be less attractive when he could see it clearly, without the pounding of adrenaline rushing through his body and the typical gratitude one holds for their rescuer.

He booked room 109 everyday that week, waiting for her to come, knowing it was a matter of time before Lavi met up with Lenalee and, as a consequence, Taz. He honestly hadn't intended to invite her to a birthday gala, but when the idea struck he knew it would come to fruition. Even if he had to be a dastardly gambit and cheat his way into her graces.

Mozart's requiem interrupted his peace. Ah. Think of the devil. The older, red haired, womanizing, devil.

"And where might you be, idiot boy?" Allen frowned at Mr. Marian' tone, holding the phone between his ear and his shoulder as he pulled on his gloves.

"I told you I'd be late. I'm riding with friends." _Sod off, asshole._

"You don't mean that half baked finger painter and his ditzy woman?"

"The same." Marian sighed as though the world was against him.

"It's my _birthday_ and your subjecting me to nonsense? Ungrateful, stupid boy." "The limo should be here soon. Goodbye." As usual, Allen held no qualms about hanging up on the man. Most of their conversations ended with the younger royally cheesed off, desperately wishing that he could somehow live with his uncle while studying in American.

Cross Marian was a family acquaintance, an old cully from Yale. Uncle Neah had convinced Marian to allow Allen to stay during his studies in America, as the boy's dream had always been to attend Julliard. Neah himself had taught his nephew and refused to let his talents go to waste anywhere else.

Nevertheless, Marian was a hard man to convince. He hated responsibility and structure, and although he was a world renown film star he still refused to tidy his habits of drinking and womanizing. The townhouse he kept Allen in was only one of three estates he had globally, the other in Hollywood and a third in the United Kingdom. Closer to Uncle Neah's place than Allen would have liked.

"Mr. Walker," the housekeeper shouted "your friends have arrived."

"_You ain't one of them Taz. You're one of us."_

"_I can be both. I will be both. Someday."_

"_Let's see what they think. Your friends are nice an' shit but they're blind if they think you'll just slip right in. And when that white boy remembers who he is, who you are, he'll drop you like a piece of trash."_

"_Maya-"_

"_Not sayin' they're right. Like you said, you'll prove 'em wrong. But ya gotta stay real, girl."_

"I don't belong here." It was her mantra through the whole ordeal, as Lenalee combed out her hair ("it's like wool…only softer!") bought her a dress ("I don't want to go," she'd grumped. Lenalee rolled her eyes and paid the cashier anyway. "If you _do _go, you have to look nice.") and forced her into the limo where Lavi was waiting. "This sort of thing doesn't fit me. You guys go without me."

Lavi smirked from his seat beside Lenalee, arm draped lazily over her shoulders. "Tsk, tsk, Missy. You made a bet and you lost. Deal with it." Of _course _he knew. Why wouldn't Allen tell his _best mate?_ Taz pursed her made-up face, resisting the urge to straighten her dress again. It was long, but formfitting and thin. Blue satin layered with tulle, Lenalee gushed, happiness created by fabrics Taz had never even heard of. It was much…showier than she was used to, with little clear stones sewn into the hem. Even her prom dress had been more subtle.

"Besides," Lavi continued, swirling his glass of champagne. He was the only one old enough to drink but Taz had every intention of getting her hands on some alcohol before the night was over. "That would leave Allen without a date. Heaven forbid that happen!" Confused, the girl crossed her arms tighter. "What's so bad about being dateless?"

"You don't know?" Lenalee and Lavi shared a look. "It's the guy he lives with. He's a major asshole-"

"Who happened to be a friend of his uncle in England. He thinks that Allen is…well…"

"He thinks I'm a bloomin' fairy," they hadn't even noticed the young man approaching the car, much less the door opening. He slid in beside Taz gracefully, easily joining the conversation. She noticed that her dress was the same blue as his tie, one of the many colors that his eyes could take. She wondered it Lenalee had chosen this dress on purpose.

"He said, and I quote 'I ain't sharing my home with a fuckin' fag'. I was originally concerned with what my sexuality had to do with cigarettes." Allen chuckled at his own joke, joined by Lavi and Lenalee. "Well its not like you do anything to prove him wrong. Would it kill you to run around a bit more? Even I thought you were hitting on me when we first met." Lavi teased with a smile. Allen rolled his eyes, making contact with Taz for a brief moment. Their gazes locked before she pulled away to look out the window.

"He's right you know. You like to primp, you're polite, you have yet to compliment my ass," Lenalee prodded.

"And you can't fight to save your life," Taz added.

"Literally." Lavi snickered. Taz watched Allen as their friends laughed, the glint in his eye and the soft smile on his face. He actually looked like the stereotypical pianist with his hair tied back and a rose on his tuxedo. All he was missing, she thought with an amused grin, was a cummerbund.

The ride to the gala was silent for Taz as she listened to the other three with their light hearted banter. They had obviously been friends long before she'd come to New York although, from what she could gather, Allen had only been in America the past year.

They fit each other well, bouncing compliments as well as hidden insults easily between them with no malicious intent. It reminded her of the friends she left back in her home town, the two girls that were probably out clubbing on a night like tonight. She'd never particularly enjoyed nights on the town, preferring to sleep, but the homesickness that tightened her heartstrings was so sudden it weakened her. Christmas seemed a lifetime away,

"We need to work harder," she heard Lavi comment. "We're boring Taz." She raised an eyebrow, waving her hand in front of her face. "I'm not easily amused. Maybe someone could do a little dance?" This satisfied her fellow riders enough for them to make the rest of the ride without speaking to her again.

It was held in the Hilton Hotel, the door to their limo opened by their driver. They may have been a little late to arrive, as the valet servicemen were looking bored, but at least they arrived in style (as Lavi put it). In her haste to get out, Taz tripped on her dress, struggling for balance in the four inch heels Lenalee had insisted upon. She reached for the nearest stabilizing device, which happened to be Allen's arm, and dragged him down with her. There was a moment of flailing limbs and moaning before Taz stumbled back to her feet.

"Oh my God! Are you guys alright?" Taz assured Lenalee that they weren't going to die, eyeing a group of people inching their way. To her horror, she noticed the fact they had cameras.

Of fucking course. Paparazzi. She though she heard Lenalee say something about it being a movie star's birthday.

Allen stood after a moment to recover from his own shame, practice allowing him to ignore the flashing bulbs. He had fallen on top of her, her coconut scented hair in his face (plush) and her body pressed against his in that deliciously crafted gown (do not think about her knockers, _do not_) and the strange little noise she made in the back of her throat when he landed on her (he now knew for a fact that he was not homosexual).

As a result, a bright red rose blossomed on his face he took a step away in an attempt to cool down. "S-sorry. I should have caught you," he spoke over Lavi's snickers and the weary fluttering of the valets. Taz shrugged, every bit as abashed but much more practiced in hiding it. "You shouldn't have to. I'm not used to these shoes," she aimed her statement at Lenalee, who had the grace to look slightly put out. "But they match so perfectly!"

"Yeah," Taz lamented as she straightened her dress "they do."

The lobby was every bit of lovely as one would come to expect, with interior fountains and pots of rare plants adding color to be reflected off the beige marble. The press hadn't been allowed into the hotel with them, a fact that eased Taz a considerable amount. In the middle of the floor stood a large piece of abstract art, crafted from some sort of dark stone, bold against pillars the width of smart cars. The receptionist desk just beyond, a woman who looked even snobbier than the man at Julliard eyeing Taz as she gaped at her surroundings. The area was easily the size of a log cabin; it looked like it could swallow the house Taz had grown up in with still enough room for the shed.

Her peers didn't seem fazed, following the satin roped areas.

"Come on Taz! This way!" Lenalee called, her arm looped with Lavi's. Taz nodded, only jumping a bit when Allen snuck up beside her and echoed the motion of their friends. "So they'll know you're with me," he gestured to the two intimidating men standing in front of the booked room. "I only had one invitation for a friend and their guest." Taz nodded, anxious. She attributed it to the fact that wandering eyes were about to descend upon her escort and, as a side prize, her. She really didn't want all that attention, but it wasn't like she could turn and run home.

Or could she…?

Too late. She'd blinked and they appeared in the room. Allen was greeting men and women dripping with finery, an abundance of lace and velvet and furs of animals that were probably endangered. The lady to gentleman ratio of the crowd that descended was uneven in favor of the females, young ladies gazing up at Allen with nothing sort of adoration and eyeing Taz with poorly concealed malice.

The young women of aristocracy were covered in jewels and baubles that served no purpose save for inciting envy within their peers, their laughs loud to draw attention to their style and refinement. Taz felt naked in her simple silver and cubic zirconium, certain that anyone who approached would immediately identify her as someone of lower class. Her face warmed behind her light makeup (much too light for the occasion, as other women sported orange, green, and even _red _eyelids) and she was quickly overwhelmed by the bodies coming to meet Allen. Apparently he was considered some sort of genius on the piano, his reputation bolstered by his relationship to the party's host.

"Excuse me," her voice seemed too weak for her tastes, and she was angered these teased peacocks could intimidate her so. "I need to use the restroom." She didn't know where it was, but desperately needed to _breathe _without the worry someone would find her unworthy of sharing their oxygen. In her haste, she didn't even notice the presence of the guest of honor, zeroing in on her companion.

"_Where are you?"_

"_Hiding in the bathroom. Like a coward."_

"_WHAT? Oh, HELL no…hold up, Asia wants to talk to you."_

"_Hello?"_

"Good choice," Allen tried not to jump as Mr. Marian appeared, the usual glass of expensive champagne in his hand and a scandalous looking tart on his arm. "She one of the Senator's daughters?"

"No."

"Paid escort?"

"Do you offend me on purpose?"

"No? What's 'er name?" Allen refused to break eye contact, standing tall among the crowd. They all pretended to suddenly be occupied with one another, although they were very obviously listening intently.

"Zahara Nyne. A honors student at Pace."

"Nyne?" Marian took a deep breath of the cigar in his hand before continuing. "Never heard of that family." Allen narrowed his eyes, refusing to walk into Marian's trap and allow him to insult Taz.

"She's not from around here."

"I see," Allen wanted to knock the grin off the old man's face, especially when his woman of the night had the gall to giggle. Of course the older gentleman wouldn't approve of Allen inviting Taz, he took every single movement as a fresh opportunity to rub his disapproval in the young man's face. Everything that made Allen happy was childish or comical or a combination of the two, nothing worthy of Marian's approval. Stupid old man, pompous git, annoying-

"Alright, I guess. I'm just glad you didn't bring your boyfriend." Allen's was too shocked to be insulted by the insinuation, his eyes wide and his confident façade falling for a brief moment. "Really? I mean, yes," he cleared his throat, a strange sense of relief washing over him "thank you."

"But," Mr. Marian continued as though Allen hadn't spoken. "How do you think Neah will feel about you dragging in the riffraff?" Just like that, Allen felt the relief morph into frustration.

The great and powerful Noah family of Europe was known for rubbing elbows with only the highest of society, incredibly strict about those they socialize with. Mana, Allen's father, had been the black sheep, moving into a two bedroom flat and attempting to make his own way without his family's help. When Uncle Neah had taken Allen, the boy was quickly drowned in the set regulations of the life he would now have to embrace, the whimsical nature of his father and his past life torn to shreds and replaced. He was a gentleman now, and he would be expected to act like one.

How this influential family would react to his interest in what they called "paupers" was something he knew he'd have to face someday. He'd never heard of anyone else choosing a relationship with someone outside the aristocracy, although his uncle told him his mother had been an actress at the same theatre as his father.

Allen felt the fingers on his hand twitch, longing to ball into a fist but knowing such a display of offense was below someone of his class. He opened his mouth to utter a cool retort, but was interrupted.

"It's rude to talk about someone behind their backs."

"_Asia-"_

"_No. Get yo ass back out there."_

"_But ya'll are right. I shouldn't be here, I shouldn't-"_

"_So he's among his own kind. He knows who he is. So what? Has he put you down?"_

"_No…"_

"_Left you?"_

"_No, but-"_

"_Do you like him?"_

"…_I just met him."_

"_That's not what I asked. Maybe he's different. Don't be a tight ass, just don't drop your guard yet."_

"_Asia-"_

"_They know what they are. Show them who they're fucking with. Don't you bow to nobody."_

"_Asia-"_

"_You better not be crying, bitch."_

"_I'm not. I'm laughing."_

She saw the canary yellow of Lenalee's gown out of the corner of her eye but was focused. She snagged a glass of hard cedar from one of the passing platters, pretending she hadn't been hiding in the restroom for the past thirty minutes. Target in sight, she dove, just in time to catch the tail end of the man's words.

""It's rude to talk about someone behind their backs." He turned his gaze to her, watching as she came to stand beside Allen. She didn't reach for the young man's hand, but made it clear whose side she was on.

"Riffraff? Isn't the dictionary definition referring to worthless things? Junk?" The man, who she suspected was the birthday boy, grinned arrogantly. "And if it is?" Taz huffed, standing up tall and forcing a sweet smile to her face. She took a sip of her drink to contemplate her words. "Such a derogatory slur is unnecessary for one of your," she made a show of looking him up and down and wincing slightly "stature. Stop hiding behind insults and say what you mean." The man's grin chilled, tension mounting.

"What I mean, sweetheart, is that my dear, idiotic acquaintance here has brought what is affectionately called a Gold Digger, into our midst. A lower class harlot who thinks that dressing up pretty can somehow heighten her status. Pearls on swine; return to your sty, sow." Taz nodded at his words, making little noises of agreement in the back of her throat. "I see. I only wish you knew one simple fact before our first meeting had to come to this."

"Oh?" Taz smiled all the sweeter, eyes shimmering in a way that made her whole face glow. It was beautiful, the perfect disguise for the glass of cider that was suddenly thrown in Mr. Marian's face. The crowd around them grew deathly silent.

"This must come as a horrible surprise," she hummed as though she hadn't just emptied her drink on the man, speaking to all in range. "But I don't need _anyone's _help to break through this thin glass ceiling. If you were to ask me, you didn't, but I'll tell you anyway, the _real _riffraff are those who squander their riches on useless parties and loose women. Jewelry they'll only wear _once _before discarding and possessing ideals so shallow I wouldn't get my feet wet speaking of them. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to go before the scent of pompous sticks to my clothes."

She turned to leave feeling shocked eyes on her back. "And, by the way, your movies suck."

The crowd watched the girl leave in silence, a strange combination of mortification and surprise stilling their movements. Mr. Marian blinked, his face a mix of surprise and admiration as cider dripped from his chin to the floor. He ran his hand over his face in a half assed attempt to dry it, brown eyes still focused on the retreated form of Taz.

He broke into a gut busting laugh. "Feisty! I like her!" He chortled, covering his eyes with his hand. The crowd breathed a sigh of relief, content to return to their circles and discuss the peasant who dared question societal royalty.

Allen was just as stunned as everyone else, the difference being the glazed over look in his eye, the faint blush on his cheeks. "Well? Go get her, idiot boy! You're gonna let that fire get away?" No more encouragement was needed. Allen turned on his heel and ran after Taz.

"_Well?"_

"_That felt sooo good."_

"_And your snow flake?"_

"…_he didn't say anything. Didn't…hold up. I gotta go. Call ya'll tomorrow."_

"_Yeah." _

"Taz! Taz!" He didn't expect her to stop, a cell phone in her hand and her eyes defensive. She'd already made it to the lobby by the time he caught her.

"What? I'm tired and these shoes hurt." Funny. His words abandoned him, the admission to how amazing he found her and how beautiful she was simply vanishing into smoke. She was a hair's breath away, so close that if he lifted his hand the slightest bit it would brush her arm, but he couldn't find just what he wanted to say.

"Allen-" he cut her off, pressing his lips to hers gently and catching her by surprise. He couldn't help the sigh of contentment that escaped, the absolute certainty that _this _is what he needed in his life, that _she _was the perfect addition to a world that mainly consisted of his piano and his dog.

She wriggled against him, and while Allen wouldn't put it past her to break his jaw over this, he couldn't help weaving his fingers into her hair, his hand at her waist, pulling her all the closer. He savored the flames that were still in her mouth, her fluttering gasps for breath even as her arms wrapped around his waist to keep him from backing away. He had no intention of letting her go, he wanted to assure her, that now that he'd finally worked up the nerve to approach her, he had no intention of turning back.

They pulled apart, his face aflame and her eyes foggy. "Uh….I…" and he _still _couldn't think of what to say. Snogging her senseless in the middle of a hotel lobby hadn't been in his plans, and his blush was so heavy he couldn't think straight.

"Kissing on the first date? That's gutsy." She spoke for him, eyes still shimmering above her smirk. Allen blinked. "This is a date?"

"You just kissed me."

"If you want to get technical this is our third date." She looked at him curiously, and he resisted the urge to kiss her again. "I took you to lunch remember? Not to mention the night we met-"

"You can't count the night I saved your ass as a date."

"I can. And I do." He brushed her lips with his again before she could argue.

"Would you like to dance?" Taz hummed, arms still tight around Allen and their noses still touching. "Dance?"

"Yes. I'm much better at the foxtrot then fighting, so I was wondering-"

"What's a foxtrot?" Allen chuckled softly. "You know what? I saw a diner on the way here. Let's get something to eat instead."


	2. Chapter 2

**BB says: **The more I write, the harder it is to update everything. Sorry fans (of all my stories).

**Rating: **This one is teen too. Only because of cursing.

**Disclaimer: **I own no part of _D. Gray-Man. '_Nough said.

**B is for BROTHER**

Zahara couldn't say she regretted the second, third or even the tenth drink. Because she didn't. It was Oktoberfest, after all, and she didn't want to appear weak in front of her fellow party goers. She had tried to brush off the challenges of the locals, the taunting sneers guised as friendly cajoling, but when one particular native had the gall to insult her, the gypsy had no choice but to show him the err of his ways.

What she _did _regret -only slightly, downing drink after drink- was the abrupt loss of her partner. Despite the fact he now had several year's worth of experience, part of her mission had been to meet up with his team and return to headquarters as a unit. But instead of simply following orders on a set path, seeking the fastest way to return home, she found herself wandering in a way she would not have bothered with a few years prior. Maybe she was getting antsy in her old age. Nineteen was freakishly ancient.

Staring into the bottom of her glass and not feeling half as drunk as she should've after drinking three grown men (and one donkey) under the table, it was at this moment she suddenly remembered the fact that she was supposed to be completing a particular task. That she had, hours before becoming looped into the festivities, agreed to meet her fellow exorcist at a decided time. A time, she noticed with no small amount of resentment, that had passed nearly a half hour prior to her realization.

There had been no Innocence to find, both teams returning the next day with empty hands, and it had been an unexpected bout of whimsy that spurred Z to suggest they spent their last day in town. Perhaps pick off any coincidental akuma who happened to be in the area and thusly postpone the return to headquarters. Her fellow in the war against demons nodded eagerly, seemingly all too ready to experience the Germanic traditions that overwhelmed the small town they were investigating. She allowed him to set the time they should meet up again (although she had the foresight to ensure it was before midnight) and they went their separate ways.

And though her current situation was very likely her own doing, she was still greatly agitated to find he had forgotten their rendezvous; there was no one waiting for her on the corner by the schnitzel tent.

So Z was left wandering the night, half drunk, half sober, her golem fluttering above her head in unintentional mockery as she searched the crowded streets. She refused to feel concern. The kid had to know that he was too young to drink, regardless of tradition, and that she would _not_ be dragging his drunken ass back to the inn without giving him an earful that would last for the rest of their time together.

Why was she even bothering with a search? Surely he would find his way back without her, surely he hadn't managed to ditch the Finders that had been sticking to him (her own had gotten fallen down drunk. She left them face down on a table), surely he could handle any life threatening position he found himself in.

"Timothy?" It wasn't quite a call, certainly not a shout.

Maybe she was going soft. A truly disturbing thought that caused a little tick to appear under her eye. Softness was weakness: to be _flexible _was wise, to be _moldable_ was folly. There was no possible way in the female exorcist's mind that allowed her thick-necked willpower to simply vanish at this particular moment, nor any other moment in the recent past.

"_Vous baisez peu la liasse. Vous être mieux mort _(You little fuck wad. You better be dead)!"

Z did like being able to converse in her native language. French was the boy's mother tongue and though he didn't use it often when talking with other people in the Order, it was the only way she would speak to him. She wasn't sure (didn't care) if this annoyed him or not; it was one of the few things that brought a mischievous smile to her face, a bit of safe excitement to her life. The first time she had done it, seconds after meeting him and hearing the slight lilt to his voice, he looked surprised and somewhat suspicious. When she had done it recently, telling him that if he drank even the tiniest drop of alcohol she would tear out his tongue and shove it up his nose, he'd stuck out the appendage and challenged her to do it.

Honestly. Children were losing all respect for their elders.

She was pretty sure her current level of anxiety wasn't just because he was another of Klaud's students. From the way General Tiedoll spoke, one would assume that all his students were, quite literally, his children. Klaud didn't have that same fixation with family, and though she wept for those of her precious apprentices lost, she never forced the theme of unity upon either Timothy or Z. So Z wasn't looking for her fellow exorcist out of concern for the boy.

No.

She was just peeved he had the nerve to forget their meeting after she herself had forgotten.

Sandaled feet wandered further from the torches now, into the shadows that lingered on the edge of the tents.

Now she was even angrier. He better _not _be here.

But she went deeper anyway.

A hiccup rose, granting another taste of what she had just finished subjecting her body to. She wished she had taken some to go; if only so she could splash it into her partner's face when she found him. Blind him while she broke a few of his ribs and cracked his skull. Chopped him in the throat and bashed him over the head with his golem.

A little twitch was a sign that her body was acting without her, head twisting in response to a noise that most certainly didn't belong to the rambunctious (and partially intoxicated) crowds she was leaving behind. Before she knew it, she was running, rushing towards the source of this disturbance.

"_Sie, mit denen Sie sprechen? haha? haben unterrichten Sie einige Manieren _(you know who you're talking to? huh? gotta teach you some manners)? The distinct sound of a body striking the cobblestones was heard before the thick leather of boots on stone signified the same person climbing to their feet. She heard someone curse.

In English.

"Speak English, asshole. You sound like your mouth is shitting." The sound of a scuffle.

It was a rather large group of young males she finally came upon, all of whom were gathered around one center point. It was very obviously a gang, very obviously passing around alcohol, and very obviously intent on doing some sort of damage to their target. Her only indication of who this unfortunate victim had to be was the little bat-like apparition flitting about the group.

There was no real thought. She rushed forward, temper in her hands as German spewed forth from her snarling lips and her eyes spat fire.

"_Ziehen Sie sich Sie kleine Scheiße-Flecke zurück_ (back off you little shit stains)." The startled group didn't know what misfortune had befallen them. The fact that several of them were shit-faced drunk didn't help the fact that they had enticed the wrath of an already greatly agitated gypsy woman. They hadn't been expecting someone to come to the rescue of a boy that had offended them so greatly, someone older and more experienced with fighting that wanted to teach them a lesson in foreign politics. Z didn't care what Timothy had said or done to entice the wrath of such a large group and she didn't care to ask. All that mattered was that he was her partner, her comrade, and the only way he would get his ass kicked was if it was her foot committing the action.

It was over in a matter of minutes, Z emerging victorious with little more than a cut on her cheek and a frown on her mouth.

Timothy was on the ground, dust covering his clothes and hair. There was a slight redness to his face, displaying the fact he had blatantly disobeyed her and had been indulging himself with the wares of the tents. He gazed up at her with confused brown eyes, a tolerance level of a child failing to process the liquor like his older counterpart. There was an empty bottle a ways down the street, and Z had to fight the urge to bust it over his head and leave him there in a pool of blood.

Hadn't she told him not to drink? If he had just listened to her he probably wouldn't have been looped into what had been looking more and more like a drunken brawl.

"_Allons _(let's go)." It was abrupt and abrasive, no more so than her usual way of talking but full of barely concealed wrath. The boy who finally scrambled to his feet was much larger than the loud little brat from Paris had been, but he still had the stubborn set to his jaw she had noted on their first meeting. This time it was on eye level with her.

The look on his face was unreadable. But he didn't move.

"_Problème_ (problem)?"

"_Pourquoi l'avez-vous fait_ (why did you do that)?" What sort of question was that?

"_Oh? Auriez-vous préféré que je leur permette de battre votre âne muet_ (Oh? Would you have preferred I let them beat your dumb ass)?" Fury crossed the boy's face, his Innocence catching the moon light above his narrowed coffee eyes.

"_Je le manipulais _(I was handling it)."

"_N'a pas regardé cette voie à moi _(didn't look that way to me)."

"_Vous ne savez rien! J'étais parfait sans vous _(you don't know anything! I was fine without you!)!" Z looked at him for a moment, gauging his mounting frustration next to her own eagerness to get back to her room. An extensive part of her was screaming for repentance, for her to nail the boy in his place and make sure he stayed there. But the part that was sincerely tired, really eager just to go back to the inn, order some soup, and go to bed, won the day. They had another early start in the morning and she didn't want to be up all night fighting with him.

"_Quels que soit_ (whatever)." The young woman looked him dead in the eye as she spoke, showing him that he simply wasn't worth the time and energy to argue with. With a snappy turn on her heel, she headed her nice, soft bed.

"_Hé! Ne faites pas vous m'ignorez! Je vous parle _(Hey! Don't ignore me! I'm talking to you)!" Ignore, ignore. He was simply a young man, and young men possess pride that is easily bruised. Throw intoxication into the equation and there was bound to be problems. Z scolded herself for forgetting such things when she jumped to his rescue, cursed her own ignorance in saving him from his peers. It was likely that if she hadn't stepped in he would've been injured, but physical wounds were always easier to deal with than blows to one's ego. No boy wants to be protected by a woman.

Realizing his older companion wasn't about to give him the power he desired, that she wasn't going to lunge for his throat in a way that would signify his victory, Timothy seethed. There was no way he could let it end like this, feeling like she held all the power while he was a sniveling brat stomping his foot and throwing a tantrum.

"_Peut-être je vous quitterai juste aussi. Je peux voir pourquoi il ne pouvait pas mettre être autour de vous un moment plu-_ (Maybe I'll just leave you too. I can see why he couldn't stand being around you for a single second more)-" Pain was the only proper response to his comment.

While Z didn't bother activating Beastly Beauty in her fights with humans -her bracelets were dormant on her body most of the time- the power behind her blows was still formidable, a fact that many could attest to. Years of training and battling demons had left her a hardened machine of strength and stamina while a natural talent for dancing left her movements lithe and fast. It was close to impossible for the young exorcist to see her reaction coming, his eyes catching her subtle tensing but his body nowhere near quick enough to save itself. Her balled fingers collided with his face violently, the girl barely holding back at the last moment to keep from busting out all his teeth and shattering his nose. Nevertheless, the boy flew back a bit and landed back in the dust from whence he had crawled.

He seemed shocked, hand over his mouth and nose to stem the blood dripping down his chin as his eyes gazed up at her.

"_J'ai dit _(I said)," Z spoke through clenched teeth, hands still flexing. "_Allons_." Her turn left no room for argument as she left, not truly caring if he followed her or not.

He _knew,_ she told the slight attempt at guilt her conscience thrust upon her, he _knew _how badly that hurt her. And still, _and still…_he deserved to be hit in the mouth.

It took a moment, but the youth eventually followed his senior, unacknowledged shame on his face.

Z wasn't a very hard drinker, and it wasn't like she was an alcoholic. This behavior -binge drinking, bar fights, spontaneous violence- had suddenly manifested itself a few weeks prior.

Allen.

By some twist of fate, a mockery of her efforts, the Black Order had made their decision clear.

He was a Noah.

An enemy.

No exceptions. He would never be considered a full-fledged exorcist again; his movements would forever fall under the gaze of skeptics.

He disappeared into the night, without telling her where he was going or when (if ever) he would be back. He carelessly left behind a dark haired girl to cope with Lenalee's bitter tears and her own ever increasing rage. The thought that he would simply abandon everything, _everyone _(her) was simply the most infuriating thought she'd ever had, and that was quite the feat when one considered her brush-dry temper. She dismissed her own laments as those of frustrated anger.

To bring him up around her was suicide, as many members of the Black Order were quick to learn. While she was shockingly silent the first few days -a disturbing contradiction to Lenalee's sobs- she quickly reverted to previous behaviors, a certain nastiness that had not reared its ugly head in _months_. Since the last time she had been expected to cope with the loss of _him. _The primary difference was that there was no sanctuary in sight for those forced to face her as the days dragged by.

Her words chilled, her actions heated, her ethereal presence in the halls similar to that of a wrathful poltergeist. One of the few who had the nerve to speak with her, sit with her, correct her behavior, was Lenalee. And Z contributed that to the fact that the Asian girl could read her so much better than most.

She was the one who knew when the gypsy cried herself to sleep following Kanda's death.

And she was the one who knew that Z's fury was not purposely directed at the people around her. That, if she stopped for one moment, allowed herself one instant of insight that may cool her foul temperament, she would crumble into dust.

Yes, the sweet china girl took all of Z's abuse in stride, merely nodding at insults and, when no one was looking, patting the dark skinned girl's arm.

_You're okay._

_I'm okay._

_We're okay. He said he'd be back._

It was laughable how eager Komui had been to send the gypsy on a mission.

The walk back to the inn was silent but heavy, her footfalls quick and precise while Timothy's were dragged and long.

Z was over the fact he had distinctly disobeyed her command to avoid all alcohol and had moved on to a deeper pain he couldn't yet understand.

"_Je vais récupérer mes Finders _(I am going to retrieve my Finders)." That was as close to a "goodnight" as the boy was going to get. His only response was a strange look that overtook his face. It wasn't anger, and it was no longer shock. Something deeper, something she had no desire to delve into at the moment. Something bitter and sticky; most likely pity.

Their inn was on the opposite end of the little town, far from the festivities of Oktoberfest. Z was appreciative of the silent streets and chilled breeze that cut through the air, slamming the door both on the warm noise of the inn and her golem. The poor machine would spend the rest of the night waiting for another patron to open the door so it could search for its mistress.

Z lifted her hands above her head and stretched, listening to her bones pop and twist in sweet release. Her guard was down, the mask she always wore thinning and cracking to reveal a young woman with haunted eyes. She wasn't expecting company on this lonely walk nor did she crave it in any way shape or form. It was only these small, seldom moments when she allowed the heavy dregs of pain to show; when there was no audience to see her compromised walls and failing efforts to mend a throbbing wound.

A hand closed on her powerful shoulder, twisting the girl around and pulling her into an alley with a grip that seemed unbreakable.

It was only as Z pushed away, looking into his eyes and absorbing what she saw, that she reared a fist back and smashed his jaw with all the force her knuckles could produce. The same hand that had punished her young partner barely an hour before was once more called as the harbinger of justice. She watched him recoil from the blow before her leg came up and smashed into his rib cage, sending him, gasping, to the ground. She panted, more from the shock than the exertion, hands flexing in uncertainty and tingles running through her legs. Heat appeared on the back of her neck, odd for the fall weather, and she started to run.

_Non, non, non, non, non, non._ If he caught her it would be over. She couldn't do this anymore, she couldn't let her pieces be brought back together only to be smashed again and again. She was so tired it was eye opening, so fatigued she could have run for miles if it would save her.

"Z! Z, wait!" _Non, non, non ,non, non, non, non._

"Z!" She ignored the young man's calls until a bullet, large and round and golden, smashed into her forehead. A burst of pain appeared, distracting her in time for a familiar weight to bounce onto her head and a string to lace about her shoulders. She was forced to stop running when a large gold fan covered her eyes.

She stiffened against the hands that wrapped around her waist and the breath in her ear, but she couldn't hold out for long. What the Hell had he done to make her need him like this? How could she fix it? The only thing she wanted was to be able to push him away, to save herself like she knew was necessary for survival. But her body froze, refusing her commands and becoming weak at his touch. "You idiot." Her voice was thick and cracking, full of fury and hate and smothered emotion.

"I know," she wasn't sure if she was surprised that Allen's voice mirrored the same strain.

"Bastard."

"I know."

"I hate you."

"I know."

And yet she still let him brush her forehead, cheeks, and chin with his lips. "I'm sorry Z. So, so, sorry." They stood like that for a time, his arms pulling her against his chest and her hands tightening behind his neck and touching the knot that held his head cover in place. "Come on," he whispered after their bodies had gotten reacquainted "we shouldn't stand in the open like this."

He sat her down inside the Ark, a place she hadn't even thought of since he left. Since that blurry, fast paced day when Noah had once again invaded and Inspector Link had been injured, and the whited haired youth before her vanished.

She felt a headache coming on.

He claimed there was a third side in this war. That that was the only way he could ever kill the Earl. He loved everyone at the Order, he loved the purpose behind their work, but he couldn't stay allow them to hinder his destiny. To hinder his greatest wish.

Left arm for Akuma.

Right for humans.

He could no longer be in the Black Order; his path was set through the gray.

Z listened earnestly, face betraying nothing. It wasn't until he finished speaking, eyes vulnerable and sad, that she spoke. "Is this your way of saying goodbye?" Her voice was flat and uncaring as she sat as far from him as possible on the musician's couch. Her single comment shocked him to silence.

"No." The young gypsy looked back up at determined steel eyes. Marveled in silence at the little dots of sapphire and hints at topaz. "No?" she scoffed, hands folded tightly. There was something about this white room, his white skin, white hair, and clear eyes that made this entire meeting seem surreal. If he hadn't been wearing brown, a normal traveler's coat, perhaps she would expect to awaken at any time.

"Why are you telling me this if not to shoo me away? Convince me to remain silent of your whereabouts when you leave again?" Her hands clenched even tighter. "You're wasting your time. It was actually more logical to leave me in the dark, keep me ignorant of your agenda. At least then I wouldn't be lying when questioned."

Allen sighed through his nose, having the gall to look exasperated as he ran his fleshed hand through long ivory strands. Considering Z had gone as far as she could, the arm of the sofa digging into her back, she was cornered when he edged closer, powerless against the hand he gently placed upon hers. She steeled herself. "Why, Allen?" The look that crossed his face was pained, tentative.

"I thought…I thought if you knew what I was doing, what I want to do, I could..," he closed his eyes and started over. "I told you because, I don't…I don't want you to move on."

It took the amethyst eyed girl a moment, staring into the same stormy eyes that had haunted her the weeks since the incident at the Order, to understand what he was asking her. Contemplation of his words seemed to be too much even as her hands unfolded and refolded to include the larger addition that lay upon them. Timcampy buried itself deeper into her hair.

The former exorcist mistook her silence for disapproval.

"I-I know it's selfish," he muttered, looking uncertain "and I'll understand if you refuse. I wouldn't blame you. I really wouldn't. This is not your problem, not your fight, and I don't want to put you in any danger. But I can't…it's not…damn it…forget I said anything," he snatched himself from her like removing a stubborn bandage, pulling himself to his feet in dismissal of their whole interaction. "I'll take you back now. You're on a mission, right? I shouldn't have brought you here in the first place, I shouldn't have-" the surprisingly gentle fingers tugging at his sleeve startled him, but no more so than the forlorn look in his companion's eyes.

"So…you weren't going to leave me?" she muttered as though ashamed of her weakness, gaze averted to stare at her shoes. The ache in her voice winded him faster than any blow he had ever received. "If I can…can wait for you. You'll come back to me? Stay with me?" his hand flew to grip the one still attached to his sleeve, knees caving so that he knelt beside the couch. He noted her pinched face, the slight down curve of her confused lips and the hesitant hope in her eyes. Despite everything, his self-proclaimed mission, his desertion of a powerful church-funded organization, a warm blossom of euphoria appeared in his chest.

"You would do that, Z?" She held his eyes and worried her bottom lip. A slow nod was granted.

No words would form, so Allen expressed his gratitude the only way he could. He leaned forward and placed his head on her chest, just below her chin, listening to her heart's frantic movements. "If you ever change your mind-"

"Shut-up, idiot." Her fingers tangled in his hair as his arms wrapped about her waist. "_Silencieux _(be quiet)before I remember how pissed I am right now."

It would be even harder to sync schedules than it had been when he was still in the Order, difficult for her to hide her improved mood and damned near impossible for him to get her alone. It seemed the higher authorities of the Order had deemed her a lead in their investigation, bait to get him to show his face. It became more and more difficult to lose her Finders and have a moment's peace, much less wander alone. It felt like it was only a matter of time before she was assigned her own Inspector.

But Z refused to think about that now, with him so close and this moment so desired it seemed like a sin to ruin it.

It didn't matter who started it, but they began to talk about their lives since their separation, the differences, the similarities. She told him about her current mission and how Timothy had earned swift justice in the shape of her fist. Allen winced in sympathy for the boy's plight, but she shot him a dangerous look when he started to tell her she was too harsh. The glare didn't silence him the way she wanted it to, his face twisting into a foolish little smile and his eyes softening. He said he'd actually missed her scalding gaze and she hissed an offensive remark regarding his masculinity.

It was getting late. And while there was no particular way to tell time in the ark, Z could feel the sleep creeping at the edges of her vision. And Allen could read it in her face.

Upon kissing her goodbye, for a reason he couldn't explain, he had the urge to discourage her from drinking. It probably had something to do with the festival currently taking place barely ten minutes from her inn, and her breath still tasting a bit like iced beer.

But looking up at her most recent cause of pain all Z could do was raise an eyebrow in amusement, her hand on his chest and his arm loose about her waist. "Fuck off, idiot boy. What are you, my mother?" A twitch at the corner of his mouth.

"Don't be silly, my charming darling," she snarled and squirmed half-heartedly at the endearment "I just know how aggressive you can be after a few drinks. I'm only asking that you not injure anyone."

"The last guy deserved to have his fucking nose broken. And I was completely sober at that particular moment."

"Isn't that all the more reason to fear you drunk?" She finally succeeded in wriggling away from him, stomping on his foot. "Don't die," she told the hopping boy "or I'll kick your ass." She heard the smile in his voice when he spoke again, knowing that he had won. "I'll see you soon?"

"Only if you shut up and let me leave. Or they'll start wondering where I've been the past few hours." She thought for a moment as she stood before the door he told her led back to her inn. As he came back to stand to his full height, she wrapped her arms around his shoulders and dragged his face down to her own. It was, she would later realize, the first kiss she had ever instigated, and he responded with the desperate clinging of a man without. They stayed frozen in time for a few seconds more before she pulled away and, with one more glance over her shoulder, was gone.

It led her directly into the inn, the glowing door disappearing before anyone noticed. It was much later than when she had originally walked out, the main room empty of people and only the faintest smell of soup and bread lingering as evidence. Several people were collapsed on the tables, sleeping off hangovers, while others were forced to sleep in the corners because there was no space upstairs. Z wondered what fate had befallen her clingy Finders, if they had been helped to their feet by good Samaritans or if they were simply forced to sleep where they had collapsed earlier. She wasn't too concerned; they were all adults and could take care of themselves.

The room she halted in front of wasn't her own, although she still chose to open the door. Walking over to the bed, she noted that Timothy hadn't bothered washing his face, and his chin was still stained by the blood of his busted lip and bloody nose. Guilt finally caught up with her, outweighing the frustration of earlier hours. Perhaps it was the fact that the object of her restless thoughts had finally appeared, or even the buzz from the alcohol wearing off, but remorse hit her hard and fast as she looked at his face. With a long suffering sigh, she turned to his bedside table. There was a basin of water and a cloth, placed there for basic hygiene needs.

As gently as possible she began to clean his face for him, wiping the mess away and rubbing at the slight frown between his eyes. He was just a kid, after all; she hadn't been much older when she had joined the Black Order. Had it really been so long ago that she couldn't remember how hard it was to balance childhood and duties (not that she had ever been truly all that naive. A part of her wondered if she was ever a child at all).

The young exorcist slept through all her ministrations, even when she lifted his chin to get at the stains that had made it all the way to the collar of his shirt. The stains would have to wait until he was up.

Once she was finished, she placed the towel back in its bowl and stood to leave; creeping across the floor in the same fashion she had used to slip in.

"_Désolé _(sorry)." Z froze at the sound of his voice, low and clogged with sleepy syllables. She wasn't sure when she had woken him up, when she first entered or when she was cleaning his face. "_Oubliez-le. Il n'importe pas _(Forget it. It doesn't matter)." The drained girl sighed, feeling his eyes on her back and crossing her arms. He rolled over to look at her but she didn't feel the need return the glance. She was plenty strong and proud to a fault, but couldn't find it in herself to face down the embarrassment of being caught doing a kindness.

"_Bonne nuit _(good night)."

"_Bonne nuit, Timothy."_


	3. Chapter 3

**BB says: **And the next installment of A to Z is here. Hold your applause.

**Rating: **Teen. All teen. Primarily for language and, in some of the one-shots, hardcore kisses.

**Disclaimer: **Am I going to have to do this every chapter? I mean, if you still have to look at the disclaimer just to be sure I do not own any part of the awesomeness that is _D. Gray-Man _then you really haven't been paying any attention to anything I do. I am somewhat offended, but for those of you who are a bit slow on the pick up: I do not, nor have I ever owned any part of the manga/anime/merchandise _D. Gray-Man._

**BB says some more: **My youngest dog has learned to back sass me. No, seriously! I guess he's just at that age. I'm all like "no, these are my nachos." And he's all like "ruff, bark, ruff, ruff." But the look in his eyes says "you psycho bitch, you better share your tex-mex delight or I'm going to pee in your slippers tonight." And then I'm like "no! I spent like an hour making you homemade dogfood, go eat that! These are mine!" And he's like "you go eat that gruel; I saw you sneeze in it! Surrender the nachos! Or face my urine of rage and my eyes of cute doggyness!" And so I say "Never, you manipulative mutt! Where did I go wrong?" And then mom says "Stop talking to the dog!" I'm so misunderstood…

**C is for CATCH**

It was a difficult industry to work in, and not just because of the stereotypical concerns surrounding the health of its participants. Aside from the diets that the media thoroughly enjoyed bashing and the expected hostility that can only be spawned by continuous exposure to estrogen, there was also the finicky people, incompetent managers, and make-up artists who seemed determined the make one's face resemble that of a clown. The outfits, too tight or too big, all had to be walked down the catwalk with the same amount of style and grace, regardless of how the fabric seemed to bind legs or itchy ruffles that dig into skin and caused irritation.

Thus was the life of a model.

But not just any model.

She was a bombshell who had taken the world by storm with a forked tongue and curvy figure. She wasn't the first the wear higher than a size zero, but it seemed like she was the most portrayed, the one most magazines would call and the one many style programs would reference. Sporting a hearty body that wore anything between an eight and a ten (depending on the cut) and swaggering down the runway like it belonged to her, it seemed the young woman was destined to become one of the greats, one of the few who showed that her profession wasn't all about skinny girls in tiny clothes and dating actors or politicians. She was intelligent, winning awards for her poetry and essays; witty, as claimed by her would-be suitors; and beautiful, as anyone with eyes could see.

But even the budding superstar needed a break. Which is what found her in the back of a tiny coffee shop on the edge of town, desperate to escape from the reporters that had descended upon her tiny upscale apartment as of late.

_"Miss Joliecoeur! Tomorrow is your interview with Jet Avis! Where do you see yourself in ten years?"_

_"Over here! What do you think of the rumors surrounding your relationship with the prince of Morocco?"_

_"What are you drinking? Are you particularly fond of Java Juice?"_

She sighed through her nose forlornly, kneading the ache that appeared between her eyes. Sometimes it was so much to take in; she considered early retirement. But then she remembered the rush that followed every photo shoot, the pride when she was applauded when she took the catwalk, the autographs she sighed for young girls who suddenly realized that the road to happiness was not necessary bone thin.

And she knew this was her calling. She hated the attention, but would rather be in the limelight than surrender her fans to a less than moral heroine. Not to say she, herself, was a saint, but she ate like a _human_, avoided all drugs, and stayed away from the more promiscuous stars of the world. Perhaps that was why the newspapers and magazines were so desperate to follow her, desperate to snap a surprisingly squeaky clean young woman doing something less than admirable.

Well, too bad for them. She neither had the patience nor the interest in something could ruin her skin or hard earned position.

She flipped open her computer and watched the screen through her thick sunglasses. They, coupled with the loose, worn clothes hanging off her body, helped her to stay hidden. She entered the chat room easily, eager to discuss the novel her book club had recently chosen.

To: all

From: lazybookbaby

Subject: _Pride and Prejudice_

_I personally disagree with 1hott's description of Mr._ _Darcy. His rudeness is merely his shield and sword, a defense, if you will, from the society that surrounds him. He is every bit as dynamic as Elizabeth, although he displays it through his discomfort concerning the false pretenses of the aristocracy and his willingness (created by his sudden realization that Elizabeth is more than a pretty set of eyes) to look past the Bennets' somewhat less than satisfying reputation. I can only say that he is my favorite character; he's all too easy to relate to. He is not simply a man with questionable social habits; he is a reflection on society and the various degrees to which it may shape people._

The young woman took a sip of her highly caffeinated beverage, submitting her thoughts and waiting for her older club members to respond. She was the youngest in the group, the others in their thirties and primarily house wives. Most of them knew her age but not her face, unaware that they were debating the characters from classic novels with a budding idol.

The warmth of a gaze appeared on her back and she spun her irritated eyes to the culprit.

There was no one watching her; everyone was either reading or working on their own laptops. The young woman snarled, slamming her computer closed and lifting her drink.

This seemed to be happening more and more often, and it was starting to concern her. The coffee shop was one of her few safe places, a location that the media either didn't notice or didn't care about. She was always careful to hide her face and body, disguising her voice and only paying in cash. She was certain she could maintain an alias of normalcy, sitting in her back booth and sipping a drink that varied each time. She was working her way through the menu.

But this unwanted audience could be the end of her. Someone was slowly figuring her out, their looks suggesting that they were trying to decide where they had seen her face before and hoping to pry her name from the tip of their tongue. And though she mourned the loss of this haven, she couldn't chance the paparazzi following her here and exposing her to these people who didn't care who she was or why she was here.

"Excuse me," the voice spoke just before she climbed to her feet, brown eyes flickering up in shock and a degree of unexplained guilt.

The young man looked nervous, blue eyes flickering to her face and away again, a camera around his neck and his hands in the pockets of his simple trench coat. If not for the khaki slacks and button down shirt she would assume, from the shockingly white hair tied back in a low pony tail, that he was some sort of emo guy, or even a delinquent, a long scar arching from his left eyebrow to his cheek . "May I speak with you a moment?" Her full pink lips pulled back in an ugly snarl as she stood, eyes as hard as chocolate diamonds behind her glasses. "Sorry, but I have somewhere to be."

The young man had already taken a seat across from her, as though not hearing what she said. "I'm afraid not. Unless you want the entire café to know who you are." She snorted, hoping he spoke merely in bluff. "Oh? And who would that be?"

"Zahara Jolicoeur. Successful supermodel, amateur actress, and huge fan of trying anything new." Zahara fell back into her seat like there was a magnet in her bottom, wind escaping her in a gust that was both a gasp of horror and a sigh of resignation. The young man across from her merely watched, hands folded on the table in front of them, still in their gloves. Christmas was fast approaching, and the air promised snow.

"What do you want?" the model somehow managed to keep the panic from her voice when she spoke in that husky, low tone that magazines gushed over. It had the slightest hint of a Romantic accent, a quality obtained from her childhood in Cote d'Ivoire. The young man had the gall to look startled at her question, large eyes rounding.

"What?"

"What do you want to keep quiet?" She was prepared for anything. Money, a one on one interview, a kiss, an autograph. One could never be sure what it would take to pay off a nosey reporter once they sunk their claws into their prey; some wouldn't let go until every little secret was pried forth. While Zahara had somehow managed to avoid such a scenario, it appeared as though her luck had dwindled into nothingness.

"Nothing." The young woman blinked at her beaming counterpart, who seemed quite proud of his answer.

"Nothing?"

"Nope." She narrowed her eyes suspiciously. "You don't want anything to let me leave here without you blowing the whistle?"

"Nothing at all. I prefer to keep work and my personal life separate." The African girl twitched, snarl still presence but now fighting not to form a confused frown. She made a note never to come here again. "In that case," she made to take her leave again, "I guess I'll-"

"Actually, I suppose there is one thing." Her head spun so fast her neck cracked, eyes deadly as they retrained on their oblivious victim. He seemed to be deep in thought, his hand on his chin and his gaze averted. "Well?" With deadly thin patience that was wearing fast the young woman curled her hands into fist. "Spit it out already."

"I want," he paused, obviously a fan of the drama "to be your friend." Their booth was silent, Zahara watching the strange boy in disbelief as he beamed at her. A man walking by the little coffee shop cursed as a chilled wind stole his newspaper and dumped it into a slush puddle. The girl behind the counter announced the fact that fresh cinnamon rolls had been taken out of the oven, tempting her customers to buy a few.

"You're nuts," Zahara finally concluded, after taking a sip of her quickly cooling drink.

"No more than the rest of the world, I should think," the young man shrugged but at least had the decency to blush slightly. She noticed he had not brought over his beverage, if he had one in the first place. "What makes you think I need your friendship? I have plenty of friends already. If this is some ploy to get me to spill my deepest, darkest secrets to the world you might as well just ask."

"I don't consider your peers and agent to be your friends. So unless you have some girlfriends on the side I'm not aware of, your life is sort of lonely, isn't it?" Her gaze was cold. Not because he was accusing her falsely; but because he had struck the nail on the head. She couldn't honestly say she'd had more than one true friend since she started her career nearly half a decade previous. Many had moved on without her, forgetting the quiet girl who had suddenly become famous overnight, the shy sweetheart who had once passed out papers for the teacher or was a champion at roller skating. Most of her so-called friends believed she thought she was too good for them now, dumping her before she could dump them. The rest, good intentioned though they were, had simply outgrown her.

She would never admit it. She would rather be boiled alive then even hint at the fact that she was very nearly alone in the world.

It was better that way.

"I don't need a friend. Pick something else." He scratched the back of his head, blush deepening. "But that's all I want." She scowled and turned her head. "Too bad." His eyes hardened suddenly, blue flashing silver.

"I'm sorry you feel that way. But do you see that table over there?" He called her attention to a set of tables on the other side of the café. There sat a large group of people, many of whom were watching fiddling with cameras. "They are all reporters, like me. I'm afraid the moment I decided to speak to you it called their attention, and now they're just waiting to hear the reason why I came over here." The model made to speak, to curse at him in both English and French, but he held up a hand. "The damage is done now, so I think you only have two options. The first is for you to become my friend, granting yourself a pardon. You'll still be able to come here without us bothering you because you're just an old pal of a normal guy.

Or you could tell me off and stomp out of here, drawing more attention from the already suspicious members of the press." Fury radiated off her body like a furnace, almost melting the plastic padding of her seat. Did she really have a choice? Damn it.

"It's good to see you again, Zoe." The boy spoke loudly, seeing the resignation on her face and already acting to shield her true identity. "Don't you remember? It's me, Allen Walker!"

To: lazybookbaby

From: 1hottmama

Subject: _Pride and Prejudice_

_Come on Lazy. Darcy was just a jerk, pure and simple. Admittedly, most of his actions were defensive (such as when he attempted to ruin the relationship between Jane and Mr. Bingly to save the latter's reputation) but his overall demeanor is both offensive and off putting. Similar to Estella's cruelty to the hapless Pip in Great Expectations, Mr. Darcy's only redeeming quality is that he is thorough in his insulting ways._

"Yes! Yes, darling! Show me what you want! You're a sassy girl, aren't you? Yes!" Zahara arched her back and pouted her lips, outstretching her hand as though checking the weather from beneath a large, ornate umbrella. The camera flashed every few seconds, catching her every movement in search of gold. "Oh no! The snow is still coming, Miss Zahara. Show me disappointment! But wait, you're wearing the latest in winter wear, so you're still warm!" She stared right at the camera as though challenging it, dropping her umbrella in favor of jamming her hands into her pockets and bending her back leg in a simile of walking.

"God yes! Yes! You are a goddess!" The camera man was a little too into his job, but he was one of the best. Zahara couldn't complain about the quality of his photos, and was certain to recommend him to others. She was part of the reason his own career had gotten off the ground, as he was the first to ever sell a picture of her to an advertisement. The quality of the photo combined with the saucy-chic girl it captured spread like wildfire.

The shoot lasted a little over an hour, Zahara then escaping to her greenroom to rest before heading home. This was her favorite studio in which to pose for pictures primarily due to this dressing room. It was painted a sweet shade of baby blue and the carpet had the thin plushness of an item well used. On the wall sat a photo taken by the famously illusive L'Homme Dans Gris, capturing night in a way that somehow possessed both the beauty and the danger of the time without the sun; it held both an insane amount of stars and the power lines installed by man, a junkyard beneath both the skyward objects and holding shirking shadows. The original was rather pricey on the market, the one hanging on her wall a mere copy.

This was the last event in a schedule filling day, and she had a catwalk to plan for the next night. She sighed through her nose, noting that her agent had called and choosing to respond in the morning. She wanted a nice, hot bath with a _lot _of bubbles.

A knock at her door shocked her out of her reverie. She realized that she had been sitting in front of her bulb flanked mirror in nothing but her designer underwear and reached for her robe.

"Yes. What is it?" The fashion world was used to her clipped, curt way of speaking. The aid smiled. "Flowers, Miss Joliecoeur. From an A.W." By flowers the aid meant five. Because that's all there were, vanilla roses all tied together with a pert pink ribbon. "Thank you, Amy." The girl blushed, not expecting the model to know her name, and nodded.

They were only friends in the loosest sense of the word and the dumbass sent her flowers.

The day at the café hadn't ended as abruptly as she would've liked, Allen's fellow reporters staying for hours after he pointed them out. Perhaps they were waiting for a slip up of some kind, some signal that she was more than just the boy's long lost pal from years before. Well, they were meant to be disappointed. Zahara may have been a model, but she was also practiced in acting.

They spent the entire time talking like old friends would, pretending to catch up with each other when they were really speaking for the first time in their lives. Or, rather, Allen spoke, Zahara remained silent about her life. For though he seemed like a nice guy there was no dismissing of the fact that he was still a reporter, someone who made a living delving into the deepest secrets of their society's idols. She forced topic of conversation to remain centered around bland facts such as recent political changes and the weather. She almost slipped up and told him about her time in the orphanage after he mentioned the death of his father, but she sewed her lips together in time.

She almost breathed a sigh of relief when the group finally began to disperse, ready with her bag and her laptop long packed. She could only imagine the sort of response she had gotten on the book club's message board by that point. Allen watched her restless movements with a surprise that confused her. "Where are you going?" she raised an eyebrow at the boy, lips pressing together in a barely concealed indication of impatience. "Home. I'm tired." The young reporter looked around. "Oh. They're gone."

"Yeah." He stood as well, although she had no intention of walking home with him. Returning to her life of fame after vacationing in normalcy was always a chore, one that involved slowly slipping from one skin to another. By the time she made it to her penthouse she would once again have revealed the designer jeans and expensive blouse beneath her sweatshirt, exchanging her ratty tennis shoes for the stilettoes stashed in her bag.

He caught her outside the door. "So I'll see you around?" She scoffed, his pleasantness and overall air of calm was less noticeable the longer she had spoken to him. She was now quite certain she knew everything there was to know about Allen Walker. "Hon, the next time you see me will be in a magazine."

But of course that wasn't the last time. It was hardly a day later, as she walked around once again in disguise and intent on purchasing a half gallon of ice cream to face down her monthly curse, that he popped up. And it went from there.

To his credit, the snowy haired young man only seemed to appear when she was trying to vanish, never intermingled with the flashing lights and buzzing questions of average members of the press. She could actually remember several occasions in which he had actually arrived without his camera, nothing but a smile on his face and a nervous hand rubbing the back of his neck.

It was a gradual process, earning her trust, and she didn't know when she had actually starting considering the boy to be the friend he wanted to be. Her reactions to his appearances had mutated from rude and hostile, to indifferent, to a sort of hesitant acceptance. He did seem to have nothing but good intentions. A month after the coffee shop and he was capable of weaseling humor out of her. Two and she felt free enough to giggle whole heartedly, including her shameful habit of snorting like a pig.

But Zahara wasn't an idiot. At no point did she reveal anything about herself that hadn't already been examined by the media. She didn't want her personal life ending up some housewife's reading material. But hanging out with the crazy-but-somehow-not young man wasn't the worst thing she had ever done. And he held pretty true to his original proposal; at no point did he flirt or attempt to morph their relationship into anything more than it was. When she had asked him why, a sudden thought as they enjoyed lemonade in the park, he'd simply said "that's not what you need, is it?" Confused, the model in disguise had stilled long enough for a little bird to land on her head.

"What are you talking about Weirdo?" He sighed through his nose and she noted how he was almost done with his drink. He would probably want another before they left. "You don't really need a suitor. You need a friend. And that's what I am. A friend." She blinked. "Or you're a stalker. Which is even worse than a boyfriend." The young man chuckled awkwardly, an uncomfortable blush appearing on his face. "Eh, right."

But a year of friendship had made the Englander gusty, as sending her flowers was the equivalent of tossing pebbles at her window. A year ago she would have doused them in alcohol and thrown them into her fireplace when she got home, but now she only sighed in resignation and opened the card. The idiot liked spontaneous gift giving.

_Hey Zahara,_

_Just thought you could use something to brighten your day._

_-A.W._

"Hey, Lavi," the bodyguard hummed on the other end of the phone, probably reading. "Hmmm? Someone attempting to kidnap you?" Zahara sighed, pouting slightly. "Not that you would come if they were. I imagine you're too engrossed in a book right now to pay attention to me."

"Ya know I'm only guarding to put my way through college. I have homework-"

"You're reading for fun and you know it! Lying bastard…," after three years of working with the ebullient redhead Zahara knew what to expect from him. Sometimes she wondered why she had kept him as long as she had. But then she remembered the sparkling green eye and sheepish smile of a boy who saved her from a rather aggressive fan. "My grandpa runs a dojo, so I kinda know how to kick ass." She had blinked, pulling herself up off the ground and dusting herself as well she could.

"Do you have a job?" And just like that, she had a bodyguard. Although she hadn't been attacked recently and had been taking self-defense courses (should some other asshole try and pin her to a wall) she kept Lavi on with no pay deductions. They had nothing but a business relationship at first, but over time she had reluctantly placed him in the acquaintance department. Besides, he made amazing conversation when it came to discussing string theory and the implications surrounding a spectrum of dimensional abnormalities.

"Whatever Princess. I image you called for a reason. Need me to return some library books?" Zahara snorted because yes, she did need him to run errands but no, she didn't want to give him the satisfaction of knowing he was right. "No, stupid face, I don't." Lavi chuckled. "'Stupid face'? Is that the best you can come up with?"

"Shut up! I'm tired!" His only response was to laugh even harder. "Why don't I fire you?"

"Because I'm charming?"

"And I know you'd only get into trouble without something to keep you occupied." Lavi scoffed but couldn't argue. He was a bit of an evil genius when it came to mischief. "So what does her royal prissiness need on this lovely evening?"

"My shoot is over. Meet me in front of my room to walk me home."

"But I'm reading."

"God, why don't I fire you?"

After finally helping Lavi to realize he wasn't going to get any reading done while she wanted to go home, he begrudgingly arrived at the greenroom.

They walked in silence, their breath little puffs of vapor in the chilled air. Zahara would never say it out loud, as it would possibly damage her long time tough reputation, but she loved this time of year. Not just the weather, but the feel. It was like the entire world was slumbering beneath a blanket, a time when people got together just for the sake of being together. As an orphan, Zahara had never really had what some would call a traditional holiday season with a mom cooking dinner and a dad telling stories. She never had any siblings to ride down snowy hills with and didn't expect to receive tacky sweaters from a distant grandmother.

When Lavi first heard of her predicament (which he said was possibly the saddest thing ever, tears gathering in his one eye) he had invited her over to his place for the holidays. To share his family with him. She scowled and declined.

That didn't stop him from asking the next year.

And the next.

And she assumed he would be asking this year as well. This time she figured that she might as well accept. At least for Christmas.

She was snapped from her reverie by the sound of a struggle. Lavi had slammed someone into the side of her building, twisting their arm up and behind their back. "WHO ARE YOU WORKING FOR?" he commanded in his big, intimidating mockery of a tough guy. His victim whimpered.

"Ah! No one! Tell him Zahara! OW! Easy!"

"DON'T SPEAK UNLESS SPOKEN TO, PUNK!" Zahara waited a few more seconds than necessary, just watching her bodyguard shove the smaller boy into the building. "S'okay Lavi," she finally said, bored with Allen's screams "he's cool." The redhead backed off. "Oh okay." He smiled broadly at the still wincing boy in front of him. "S'up Allen. How's it hanging?"

"You nearly broke my arm."

"Like any true friend would." Zahara narrowed her eyes in confusion. "Wait…you guys know each other?" Lavi slung his arm around his smaller counterpart's shoulders, ignoring the obvious grimace on the boy's face. "Yeah! Me and Allen-" the latter slammed his elbow into Lavi's stomach, toppling the tall boy. "That's for nearly tearing off my bloody arm. I think one prosthetic is enough, don't you?" The now floored redhead wheezed in response. "You shouldn't be here anyway," Zahara quipped "someone could see you with me and get the wrong impression."

Allen waved away her statement. "Don't get worked up. There's no one out here tonight. Even we mosquitoes need a break now and then." Zahara's glare intensified. "You better not be here just to catch up with your long lost twin. I'm tired, so you and Tweedle_dumb_," she gestured to Lavi, who struggled back to his feet. "Can go away now."

"Actually," Allen scratched the back of his head with his fake hand, smiling his shy smile with a powdering of pink on his cheeks from the chill of the air. "I did come to see you, Zahara."

"Oh?" She didn't understand why his words made her feel two degrees warmer "what do you want?"

"I won some tickets to a photo gallery and I was wondering if you would like to go. I thought you would enjoy it and I have two tickets so…" Allen trailed off, trying to read the dark skinned girl's face. A flicker of excitement crossed it, but she put in the effort necessary to stifle it with offense. "So I was your last choice? How lovely for you."

"First _and _last, actually. I haven't asked anyone else." Having recovered from his bout with Allen's elbow, Lavi whispered in his employer's ear.

"Hey, are you guys dating?" Zahara looked at him with a raised eyebrow before sending him back to the ground with a knee to the groin. Her gaze turned back to Allen, whose face had twisted at the gruesome abuse of her bodyguard. After a moment of contemplation, she spoke again. "I suppose no harm could come of it," the young man visibly relaxed. "When and what photographer?"

"This Saturday. It's the latest work from L'Homme Dans Gris_. _I've heard it's a whole new style of he's trying out. The invite says to dress casual."

"As in semi-formal?"

"As in jeans and a tee." Zahara raised her eyebrow at the odd dress standards but didn't comment, accepting the little piece of cardstock as it was offered. It wasn't like other invitations she had ever received, this one without the frills and holographic print that resulted in frivolous beauty. It was an item of practicality, closer to a birthday card with its faint blue background and Times New Roman print. The photographer's name was printed at the top along with the name of his new gallery ("_Syringa vulgaris". _Odd name, but L'Homme was known for his unique titles) with the time, date, and location printed at the bottom. His signature graced the lower corner, a simple doodle of what resembled a gray mask claimed from a masquerade.

"I could pick you up. I mean, if you wanted to go as Zoe instead of Zahara it would probably be unwise to use a limo. Or something."

To: 1hottmama

From: Lazybookbaby

Subject: _Pride and Prejudice_

_Mr. Darcy was nothing like Estella! The latter was programmed from the moment she was adopted to tear the hearts out of people and stomp on them, while the former openly admitting his mistakes by marrying Elizabeth! Estella, in all her cruelty (I suppose she was a victim in her own right as well. She never had the chance to become a good person due to the underhanded bitterness of her adopted mother) never once apologized to Pip fully for her horrid treatment of him, still spurning his advances when he improves his life all for her favor. Mr. Darcy was not rotten like that unemotional shrew; he was simply truthful and, in a way, defensive._

Zahara blew a hair out of her face, carefully analyzing the photo before her. L'Homme Dans Gris was as amazing as always; she had yet to see anything in this show that didn't please her. She downed the rest of her punch, tilting her head to the side.

While she had come casual, as the invitation had demanded, there were too many individuals present would may have recognized her if she had simply gone as "Zoe". Too many artists, musicians, _people_ who could possibly see through her disguise and then know what to look for if they ever came across her on the streets. So the young model wore designer jeans and a t-shirt, her boots costing the same amount as a motor scooter and her hair styled in a formal ponytail. She made her smiles coy and charming, and though no paparazzi had known she would be attending a photo gallery, she still had the mask in place for the sophisticated society of California.

She mingled proudly, as she was well versed in both gossip and politics (although there was hardly a difference in this area) and flirted shamelessly.

Her companion was beside her the whole time, dressed in what she knew he deemed casual. Slacks and a white button down, as she saw him wearing more times than not. He surprised the starlet with his ability to absorb conversations she started and join in, and before long the room was asking the same question; who was Zahara's new beau?

Startled and embarrassed, she dragged the boy away from the wandering groups of rumor spreaders and asked him to get her another drink. She had already had two, working on her third, but she had a weakness for sweets and the drink was pleasantly warming. The young man had nodded, and after he vanished a particular picture caught her eye.

It was strange for L'Homme, one who primarily focused on realism wandering into romanticism. It appeared to be composed of several blown up black and white pictures, stacked one upon another in order to create depth and movement in an otherwise two dimensional world. While the main figure was obviously a woman, her face and body had been carefully removed from the photos until only her outline remained. Her shape had been so prudently cut from the picture it was possible to see the subtle bend to her legs and the wave of her arms, suggesting she had been moving away at the time her image was captured.

There was certain stiffness to her shoulders, a pride in her gait that was easily captured by the camera she didn't seem to realize was following her. It was almost amusing, for though the photographer had removed her body, books were still hovering in the air from their position tucked under her arm, a milkshake floating in her invisible fingers. Above her head sat the only aspect of the picture that wasn't black or white or shades of gray, a sudden burst of bright red. Looking closer, Zahara identified it as a little red bird quite unlike any she had ever seen before. She was fascinated at its existence, because L'Homme Dans Gris prided himself on only true images; no computer manipulation for his work.

"What do you think it means?" Zahara jumped as an enraptured voice appeared at her elbow, head twisting to snap at whoever had disturbed her.

Oh. Allen. White hair pulled into a low ponytail and lanky body loping to stand beside her. She supposed she could kill him later. Accepting her newer drink she shrugged.

"Well," came her slow start. Why was her voice so muddled? "I was thinking the fact that only the bird possess color says something about the world the people are in. Especially the girl. Although she seems to be moving in the opposite direction of the crowd she's just like them; without life. I think its suggesting that we're all trapped the same way, despite our differences." Allen nodded at her words, thinking for a moment. His face twisted into a frown.

"That's so _depressing _Zahara." She punched him in the arm. "Okay then Mr. Sunbeam. What does it mean to you?" She took another sip of her drink. Because it was really good, granting her a floaty feeling and putting her in a good mood.

Allen rubbed his budding bruise, thinking. "I don't see the bird as the only color. I think that the photographer just wanted to call attention to both the woman and the animal." The young man scratched the back of his head. "I mean, look at it. That red is so rare in California wildlife. And to be in a city? Wow. And it actually flew close enough to her that she could touch it."

"Make your point, Mary-Sue." Was she slurring? She felt like she was. Allen didn't notice.

"Red is the color of love, Zahara. I think the person behind the lenses has found his first love, and is desperately trying to get her to acknowledge it."

Zahara giggled. Which it what snapped Allen back to reality. Giggled? In public?

"You silly banana," she snorted, a bit too loudly. Her eyes were glazed over and her words ran together. "You see pretty things. I look like the grim reaper compared to you!" Glancing at the drink in his friend's hand, the white haired youth recognized his mistake.

It was a bit of a challenge, removing the girl from the gallery before she could destroy her carefully constructed reputation. She kept trying to talk to people, trying to tell them about the funny picture and her funny drink and wasn't the ceiling a funny shade of white?

Lavi was peeved with Allen when he finally made it outside. "What the Hell? I leave you with her for two seconds and you fuck her up! She's barely even old enough to drink! And her tolerance sucks! Why the fuck would you let her have alcohol?" Allen chuckled sheepishly, saying something about not realizing what was happening until it was over. And, hey, how did Lavi know her tolerance sucked if he discouraged her from drinking? Lavi ignored him. "Damn it. You dumb n00b. That's gonna be your name from now on. Dumbass N00b who can't keep an eye on one girl for one night 'cause he's an idiot. Geez." The redhead grumbled to himself.

"Lavi?"

"What, N00b?"

"Are you coming to get her?" Lavi let out a string of profanities. "What? No! You did this, you take care of it!" Frantic, Allen tried to keep his voice from cracking. "B-but you're her bodyguard! She pays you for this sort of thing!"

"No. I'm her _friend. _The security thing is an excuse for her to pay for my school bills without anyone knowing. Doesn't want anyone to think she's soft." Lavi sighed. "Besides, Gramps and I are going to see my folks in Hong Kong. Won't be back until after Thanksgiving." Lavi's father was from Italy, but he moved to China to be with his mother. "I'm at the airport right now."

"Lavi, I-"

"Whoops. Now boarding. Gotta go. Oh, and Allen? Me and you are cool and all but you touch her, I'll kill you, si? Bye." The trilingual bodyguard hung up, leaving Allen with a loudly singing Zahara. "I've gotta lovely bunch'a cocoanuts! See dem 'ere sitting in a row!" Sighing, Allen called a cab.

While it was against his morals to go through a lady's purse, this could be considered a special occasion as he stood outside her apartment with the girl loosely draped in his arms. She had passed out in the taxi, leaning on his shoulder and breathing contentedly. He was desperate to keep his thoughts from wandering at the feel of her breath on his neck, the way one of her hands had settled on his thigh with her fingers kneading his pants. It was all he could do to keep his nose from bleeding. Her doorman had shot him a suspicious look when he had walked past, a half dead model dragged behind him.

Busy trying to keep the girl from collapsing onto the floor (like it appeared she wanted to, if her whiny complaints were any clue) Allen didn't have time to appreciate the décor of her living arrangements. Her home was littered with modern art and bookshelves, a flat screen television on the wall in front of a black leather sofa. Her kitchen was chic and ebony, matching the opaque rug in her living room, and a large fish tank housing several colorful fish.

In stark contrast to her pristine entryway, her room was a mess, clothes and shoes and magazines scattered on the floor surrounding the large bed he sat her on.

"Okay, Zahara," the tired young man muttered, gently tugging at her furry boots. "You had a little too much to drink. But you're home now, so I suppose you can sleep it off." She nodded seriously, although he could tell she really wasn't listening to him as he helped her lie back without falling. Sleeping in her day clothes once wouldn't' kill her.

"Well," he turned "I guess I should get go-" he words froze in his throat as she pulled him forward, forcing him to smash, face first, onto her mattress. He was flustered by the sudden upsurge of her scent –fresh air and roses- before he realized she was wrapping herself around him.

"Nooooo," she moaned, using her arms to pull his face closer to hers. "Don't go. You're my friend." Heat radiated from the young man's face, his body stiff. "Yes, Zahara, we're friends. But you're a bit intoxicated right now and-"

"I don't hava lot. O' friends." Allen shut his mouth with a snap, discomfort and pity blossoming in his chest. "Zahara…"

"Shut up, stupid face," her nose wrinkled and her eyes closed as she sighed. They were close enough that her lips brushed his, and he stopped breathing out of fear she would move away. Or closer. Whichever.

"Don't wanna 'lotta friends. One best friend's better thana million acquaintances. Tougher that way." Her eyes opened a seam. "I gotta best friend, ya know. He's nice and shit." She sighed. "Lavi wins outta default, though. Maybe."

That hurt Allen more than it should have, and he pried himself away from her to sit up. "Yes, Zahara. Now you should go to sleep. I'll leave out some aspirin before I go." The young woman watched him in confusion, wondering why her source of warmth was leaving. Stupid Allen always being stupid and leaving her in her stupid apartment with its stupid silence. It was always stupidly quiet unlike her stupid orphanage which she didn't miss at all, thank you very muchly.

Wasn't Allen Walker handsome? Didn't she think so, from that first moment in the café? The way his lithe body moved beneath his clothing and his pointed features and his soft looking hair. His smile was so sweet and he was always willing to argue pointedly and long. And so formal! It was funny how easily embarrassed he was; the boy's face would heat up like a jack'o lantern at the simplest thing. No, no he wasn't handsome, he was _pretty. _So damn _pretty _she thought it was unfair that a boy be so _pretty._

Her thoughts had a blurry edge, but one prominent realization forced its way to the front. He was leaving? For how long? She reached for his arm again, but he steeled himself against her tug, refusing to fall again. He turned to her with those _pretty _greyish blue eyes that were alight with ashamed jealousy. Zahara wrinkled her nose, pulling herself to her knees to bring herself closer to the emotion in his eyes. "I said something dumb?"

Allen allowed himself a small smile at the childish worry in her face, despite the fact it was overlapped by her pout. "No, Zahara."

"Oh. Good." It was silent but her hand didn't move. They just stared at each other, Allen slowly growing more uneasy with their position. She was watching him as though processing an idea. "Um, Zahara?" Her other arm shot up, fingers hooked onto his collar, bringing his face down to hers and slamming their mouths together.

It actually hurt. She bruised his lips.

But he really didn't mind the pain, considering shock had made him nearly go numb. His brain was attempting to find the correlation between then and now, normal Zahara and the one kissing him so hungrily it was alarming. The young woman was very attractive, terrifyingly so, and her set mouth and scowling eyes only increased the effects of her beauty. And yet Allen couldn't get close to her. Not that he had wanted to, he told himself adamantly, because it had always been his destiny to be trapped within what Lavi called the "friend-zone".

He should focus now.

Unaware that the young man couldn't quite register what had happened, Zahara moved her lips against his, the hand at his collar moving to wrap around his neck as her breath brushed past his cheek in impatient little pants. Her fingers migrated into the sensitive hairs at the nape of his neck and Allen released a little moan at the touch. Slowly, his body began to melt, leaning into her kiss and tilting his head to make it mutual and gentle.

When Zahara pulled at him he willingly climbed on top of her, suddenly aware that she was smiling blissfully. He bit her bottom lip, feeling the urge to taste her voice, and she opened her mouth a crack, allowing him to explore and wrapping both arms around his neck. A leg hooked around his waist and she arched her back slightly when he brushed his tongue against hers.

Heat tinting his vision, Allen pulled away to bite and lick at her neck, an action approved by the humming girl beneath him. His hands, both real and fake, began to climb under her shirt, rubbing circles on her stomach that were gradually getting higher. He found a spot that made her gasp and pull him tighter as he sunk his teeth into her gently and buried his nose in her neck. Sighing in frustration, Zahara pulled him by the hair to kiss him on the lips again, the fingers of one hand loosening the buttons of his shirt while the other yanked the tie from his ponytail. The mesh of their mouths was heavier, hotter than the first time, her little noises driving him wild as she raked her nails against his bared skin.

Zahara's other leg wrapped around his waist to pull him closer and press their torsos together. Although she had initiated the kiss, Allen had easily taking control and was happily devouring her mouth as her fingers played against his back and made him growl in a manner that –in retrospect- was fearfully feral. He continued tugging at the fabric covering her chest, made all the more eager as his fingers familiarized themselves with the flesh that constructed her curves.

It was only as her shirt made it to the top of her breasts, ready to be yanked over her head and discarded, that Allen remembered what he was doing. And with whom. How could he be sure the heat of his movements were mutual? Did she felt the same way or was she simply keeping pace with him? What kind of man took advantage of an intoxicated young woman?

He practically jumped off her, stopped only by the legs at his waist and the arms at his neck.

"Zahara," the hoarse desire in his voice worried him. "You're drunk. We- I shouldn't be doing this." A little whimper escaped the back of her throat, his resolve quaking from the force of such a blow. It was difficult for him to disengage as her limbs remained stubbornly wrapped around his body, forcing him to stay close and gaze upon her swollen lips and glazed eyes. The way her mocha skin seemed to heat up at his touch and her wide brown gaze flickered in overstimulation. It physically hurt him to yank her shirt down from its position on top of her chest, once again covering the navel ring he hadn't known she had.

Fearing for his determination, he looked away and pried her arms from his neck. His shame made him stumble with the buttons on his shirt, wondering when his belt had become unbuckled. "Sorry, Zahara. I'm so sorry."

It was silent for a moment, and he thought that perhaps her drunken mind was lagging and that any moment she would punch him. But he couldn't leave; a natural inclination towards masochism demanded he await his punishment before vanishing. If he didn't, would he not be kept in suspense until he saw her again? If she was even willing to see him again. Next time maybe she would just let the overzealous Lavi rip his arm off and be done with it.

The young man was surprised when a gentle hand strayed to his head.

"Right, right," Zahara combed through his hair, humming. "Allen wouldn't cause he's Allen. Right." Using her weight against him, the young woman flipped both of them so he was lying beside her. She tangled her fingers in his disheveled shirt and pressed her head to his chest. The blood rushed to his face as her ear leaned against his ecstatic heartbeat. "You'll be here when I wake up?" Allen hesitated, but wrapped his arms around her hips.

"Y-yeah." Although the sober and very likely hung-over Morning Zahara would throw a lamp at him.

"Good," she breathed, burrowing closer. Her heartbeat slowed and her eyes flickered shut, but her death grip remained, even in slumber.

Allen sighed. He was such a push over, wasn't he? The incredible melting man, powers activated by a pretty girl kissing him. Or by him looking at her across a coffee shop. Or by her looking at him. With her very pretty eyes.

"I didn't actually think you'd let me get close to you," he mumbled into her hair, one hand playing with a curl. "I was positive you would rather break you cover than let me sit with you. You just seemed like that sort of girl." The sort of girl he could fall in love with. And had.

How could he explain it so that she would understand? Photography was an art, and any artist is a sucker for beauty; that was why they worked so hard to capture it. He had stopped for a coffee by chance the first time he saw her from afar. The young European, in America in hunt of splendor, was only trying to warm his chaffing cheeks and numb hand when he saw her at a booth. She looked busy with whatever was on her computer, eyes set and focused on what may have been work or play. She was quite the accomplished typist.

Allen couldn't see how beautiful she was then, but something about the way she held herself, the confidence and the strong set in her shoulders was inexplicably attractive to him.

He wasn't sure why, but he ordered another tea and watched her for as long as he could.

The next week found him in the same spot at the same time, waiting for her and attempting not to smile when she squeezed in. This time he saw her face; dark glasses perched low on a solid face with intelligent eyes. He looked away before she made eye contact, once more attending his "bird-watching" when she turned her attention away. He felt like an addict who had just had their first dose. The paper in front of him was terribly neglected by his straying eyes. He had wrinkled his nose in distaste at his own actions. He should go talk to her, strike up a conversation instead of progressively becoming the unsavory sort of person who stared like a pervert from across the room.

She was gone when he looked up again.

And with his eye for detail, he was easily able to find the similarities between the young woman and America's burgeoning starlet. And while this was a bit discouraging (why would _she _spare a moment for _him?_) he now had the excuse needed to speak to her.

The camera around his neck supported his lie, his hand gesturing to a group of college kids who attended the art school. Lucky him; they appeared to be in the photography class and therefore possessed cameras of their own.

And thus he found himself thrust into friendship with the introverted young woman, absorbing every moment he could possibly snatch from her busy schedule. Although it was pitfall (as previously warned by his redheaded ally) he would rather be her friend than a stranger on the street. It didn't matter if he was becoming more and more taken by her the longer they were together, that her quirks and seldom smiles had grabbed him by the heart and dragged him down.

Allen was in love, damn it, and would have traded a leg and an eye to brush her arm. He couldn't help but snap the picture that had enraptured her at his photo gallery.

Thinking aloud he spoke. "I honestly have no idea why they call me L'Homme Dans Gris when I'm not bloody French. I blame my agent, really. Which is silly, because Johnny told me-"

"You're L'Homme Dans Gris?" Allen froze, voice stuck in his throat as blood rushed from his face. "You-you're awake?" Zahara hummed. "Sort of. You shouldn't talk to yourself so much." It was silent. Allen took a breath.

"How much were you awake for?"

"Don't you mean how much was I sober for?" Allen was losing too much blood to his brain. He felt himself growing faint. This was it, when she kicked him out and deemed him undesirable. Perhaps she would even press charges against him, the dirty prematurely gray boy who had taken advantage of her.

How could she tell him about her tolerance levels? They were difficult to explain. She didn't become drunk in the normal way; that much was certain. While most would commit embarrassing acts and say foolish things while in the heat of the moment, blessed to awake to amnesia, Zahara became a prisoner in her own body. She could see and feel and hear everything but the silly drunk tottering around was completely free of control. She wondered if that was true intoxication or is alcohol merely had some sort of hypnotic effect on her, some sort of temporary hold that possessed her limbs only to wear off in mere hours.

She wasn't sure if it had been of her own volition that she kissed him. This beautiful young man who had chosen to spill his soul on the sheets of her bed (and not in the dirty way Lavi would wink and nudge at). A lovely little spirit victimized by the world when he lost his arm and father in a car accident. Who was generous with his stupidly warm smiles and his careful observance of her silly hang-ups. Even as her body jumped him he was gentle and caring, choosing to tear away to protect her from herself. Damn him and his…_him-_ness. And to find out he was a famous photographer? The one she actually enjoyed? It was a bit much for one night.

Zahara wasn't sure if she was the one who kissed him. But she did like it.

And his stupid pictures.

She scowled, finally noting that the boy was even paler than usual.

"Everything," as response to his question "but I couldn't stop."

"O-oh." Allen was surprised when she didn't let him go. She simply sighed and closed her eyes. He smiled uneasily. "Aren't you going to kill me, Zahara?" She grunted and pulled herself to her elbows without opening her eyes. Her lips, still swollen, brushed against his and he responded despite himself.

"Not now. I like your work." Allen sighed in relief, his face a charming pink when he kissed her again. "Are you sure you're sober now?" Zahara nodded sagely. A strange feeling of elation eclipsed her uncertainty. Perhaps it stemmed from the mingling of their two secrets. The photographer and the model, hiding from cameras.

"Lavi is going to kill me."

"I won't tell if you don't."


	4. Chapter 4

**BB says: **The next installment, here and fresh from the oven.

**Rating: **Teen

**Disclaimer: **Of course I don't own any part of _D. Gray- Man! _

**D is for DECISION**

"Anything else? Some blood perhaps?" Zahara had been a member of the Black Order for years, her Innocence had evolved twice and she was no stranger to death and sweat. She had scars aplenty and a mind constructed from the wisdom one only gains from the fields of battle. She had acquired the knowledge that, in the end, life is nothing but a candle's flame; flickering and slight, easily extinguished. It was a fact that she had first been introduced to early in life upon witnessing the death of her mother. The same day that had seen the woman stirring a pot over the fire, braiding her daughter's hair, singing in an alto French was the day her ashes would be scattered to the winds. She was an immigrant from Côte d'Ivoire whose family had come to Europe to seek their fortune; her husband was the Romani River man with whom she had eloped.

The young lovers had been killed so easily it rung of bitter humor, their spirits and lives wiped off the planet without a single wrinkle appearing on the face of the world. Their only lasting legacy had joined the organization dedicated to destroying those who had killed them. Fate, as some would say.

This peculiar play of destiny meant years of hard work and persistence; of injuries and healing; heartbreaking and mending; laughs and tears. These people probably knew the young woman the best and understood her and -if she were to ever allow thoughts akin to those of a certain young man from Britain- they were her family. Therefore they had become somewhat accustomed to her rudeness and swift swinging of mood. Few still cringed when she wasn't displaying sincere anger.

"No, Z. I think everyone has coffee," Reever easily brushed off her snarls, turning from her glare. The scientist was entirely too tired to deal with her at the moment, and was eager for her to leave so his men could concentrate. "Can't wait for Lenalee to get back," he muttered quietly, scratching the back of his head. Z's sharpened hearing heard him.

"What? You don't like my service?" The young woman snorted irritably. "Maybe I should just leave you to suffer on these late nighters, _n'est pas? _Allow you to work with no caffeine drive? No hope in sight? Exhaustion claiming lives, one by one as you all begin to fall prey to the little death known as slumber?" Her rhetorical questions were met with the moans of the half dead, sipping their coffee and struggling not to suffocate beneath stacks of paperwork. A humorless and slightly manic smile was on her face, eyes terrifyingly void of any mercy. The blonde Australian before her waved his hands begrudgingly. "No disrespect, Z. We're just used to our beverages being delivered with a smile."

"_Oui. Bien sur _(of course)." Perhaps it was an inopportune time to announce her complete inability to smile on command. When she didn't feel mirthful, it was difficult for her to display it on her face. She was rather blunt and forward with her responses, physical or verbal, and she was sincere in everything she did. A part of her envied Allen and Linalee, perhaps even Lavi, for their ability to "grin and bear it".

Z sighed.

And smiled.

Many in the room cringed away from the strange grimace while Reever caught the brunt and screamed a bit.

"N-never-mind Z! You're perfectly capable in your own way!" The upside to her terrifying look was that the scientists had recovered enough stamina to jolt from their seats and assure her that her services were appreciated.

The young gypsy woman was unsure if they were honest or merely wanted her to cease displaying an expression that would make a baby cry. It didn't matter she supposed, although her pride would be wounded if it was the latter. She raised an eyebrow and gave a little noise to acknowledge their reassurances, turning to go about her business. It was late but now she was wide awake. The only reason she had ventured out of her room was in search of a cup of tea, having no prior intention of encountering a groggy Reever. Why had she taken it upon herself to provide coffee in Lenalee's absence?

Boredom seemed like the most probable answer.

Regardless, she was no longer suffering from the fatigue that could only stem from being awake so late, and her body had long since finished its creaking and groaning. She wasn't sure she would be able to sleep at this point, and honestly couldn't see why she would try. Even with tea, her body wasn't in the mood to be soothed into rest. So instead of hooking the hard left that would have taken her back to her warm bed she stayed on her straight path, barefooted steps echoing in her wake.

Zahara had no candle, having made her way into the science department with a tray in either hand (and on her head), and leaving without snatching a lamp to light her path. At this point, so long into her occupation of the old castle, it was impossible for her to get lost. Her feet knew where to go before her brain did, muscle memory taking control as it did so very often in order to allow her time to think. Knowledge of her home was coupled with the girl's innate ability to see in the dark and provided her with efficient tools for venturing in dim corridors. Espionage, casual and occupational, was so much easier when she needed no torch to guide her path. Any torch granted light both to oneself and to one's enemies.

It was a cool night, adding to the perpetually chill inside the stone castle, and the moon was heavy in the sky. It was so large the young woman thought she could reach out and grasp it through the window she passed, an arched patch of lunar light that bonded itself to her dark curls. Another turn took her deeper into the passage ways and away from the glow.

Wandering into a stretch of dormitories, Z wondered at the bodies beyond. Most could sleep quite soundly, deep, mercifully dreamless slumbers. Few still had nightmares to haunt the shadows, as most had been forced to confront such fears their first days in the Black Order. While newer, stronger fears were bound to rise from the ashes of the old, the fortitude of one's spirit was known to increase as well. Being in this part of headquarters, thinking of nightmares, it was natural her thoughts lead to one person in particular.

She pondered peeking in on her…

Her…

What?

Lover implied more than what it felt like. Lover felt deep, meaningful, sweet mutual words that belonged in poetry. _Romeo and Juliet _came to mind, also reminding Z just how deeply she despised the spiel.

Courtesan? Was that what she was? What he was to her? That seemed too shallow. Truth be told, they had only made love once, months previous. He had taken care to leave it at that, wrenching himself away from heated touches before they could stray too far, taking care to show her his affections in other ways. While Z had originally taken offense at these gestures, she believed his logic was flawless.

She had ventured into a brothel to seek advice on contraception. But was unsure how to inform Allen of her new knowledge and the freedom it allowed.

Escort?

Suitor?

Or perhaps she should not wonder what he was to her, but what she was to him. The very notion angered her a bit, that his opinion should even matter in the outcome, or even that it bothered her on such an unconscious level. Her mind was filled with resentment at the fact that her own emotions could be thrown in to turmoil at his will. That his simplest dismissal could enflame her temper or crush her into unrecognizable bits. It would ever been too fresh, the memory of her hiatus concerning the white haired youth.

Z twitched and banished the old train of thought. She had run this through her mind until it was faded and tasteless, existing only as a ghost in the passages of her brain. It demanded her attention, wishing to be analyzed and explained in order for its existence to have meaning.

In order to grant its wish, Z would have to not only take her own perspective into consideration but also the views held by so many others. How Allen and herself conducted themselves as a unit

_(couple) _

and how it appeared to the audience that was ever present. What finders and scientists and fellow exorcists saw when they looked upon the two arguing or eating together or just sitting; thigh to thigh, completely silent. Sometimes his hand would entwine with hers, sometimes she would lean a bit too much in his direction, sometimes she would catch him glancing in her direction. He would blush like a child. She found the cherry pink appealing, a sentiment she would express by wrinkling her brow and scowling slightly.

What were they?

The mess was empty, as one could expect this time of night, and Z had no problem passing the empty tables bathed in the lights of the high windows. Even though it was completely devoid of consumers, the room spoke of familiarity and warmth, holding the hearts of the people deep within itself. She had heard before that the Order was very haunted, and she almost felt as though she could feel eyes watching her enter the kitchen door.

Benevolent eyes, but eyes nonetheless.

Once inside she switched on the electric lamps that, like other areas that experienced heavy traffic, the kitchen boasted. The young woman didn't waste much time, moving to gather ingredients as soon as adequate light was provided. Though she was adept at finding her way in the dark, and even recognizing people and places and things, she wasn't comfortable with cooking in nothing but moonlight.

Z could very easily have grabbed a snack from the extensive pantry but she had skipped dinner in favor of napping. She was hungry and didn't believe pastries would satisfy quite as well as a meal. There was an echoing hollow in her stomach and she craved something hearty.

The faded memory of her mother had stirred the girl into action as she questioned Jerri about any Romani recipes he may have had in his vast arsenal. She had taken to cooking like a fish to water. And the effeminate chef highly encouraged her interest in his area of expertise.

"As long you clean up behind yourself sweetie you don't gotta worry any. I'm proud my teaching skills have taken you so far!" Z chose not to respond as he gushed over how adorable she looked as she wore a rather lacy apron (that he insisted upon) and how his superior skills must've been the source of her fascination with culinary exploits.

"Oh," she paused in her reach for the notebook he had tucked under his arm. It was a compilation of Romani and French peasant dishes he had put together on the fly. A gift he was presenting as a graduation present.

"If you feel like you owe your darling professor for all his hard work," she hadn't said that "there is one thing I think I would like you to do for me." There were practically hearts floating around his words.

This was why Z could occasionally be seen sporting very fashionable hairstyles that broke her normal plaits and buns. Because, apparently, her hair was "super soft and gorgeous! It's a crime how you just let it hang like that!" Jerri used her as a model for experimental hairstyles, gushing and cooing at the many options her lengthy locks offered his creative fingers. Z supposed it was no surprise he was so adept at manipulating her stubborn tresses; Natives of India had similar hair. Long and dark and impossibly thick.

And though the young gypsy couldn't say she hated the breeches of norm Jerri's actions offered, she reverted to her usual styles often enough. They were so much more practical for keeping hair out of her face.

The young woman cut the pumpkin with more force than necessary and tossed it into the frying pan with vigor.

Everyone had noticed her changes in appearance, and though many just attributed it to female whimsy, those who considered themselves "close" friends knew her better than that. She was a woman of practicality, just as she had been all her life. She went to no extreme efforts for fragile fickle fads. Manners were a waste of time, perfumes even more so, and why the Hell would anyone need the skill of "giggling coyly"?

It was only the regality that Madame Nyne had engrained deep in the younger Z that allowed the girl to carry herself like a lady. It was lucky, Lenalee had giggled once, that Z was naturally beautiful; most vanity rituals women put to work went ignored in the young gypsy's world.

The pumpkin, garlic, ginger, and sweet potato were sticking to the pan. Z added more of the ingredients, taking care to increase the amount of spicy curry powder. She liked heat.

Lavi had assumed the altered hairstyles had been, as he so eloquently put, for "her man". She punched him in the nose, wondering if that was what everyone else thought and why. When the decked junior bookman was able to get back up, she asked him. One hand over his red nose (_lapin _(rabbit)was lucky it wasn't bleeding) the redhead smiled gently.

"Do you really not see it, Z?"

Curse him and his spontaneous wisdom, often accompanied by cryptic messages. Of course she figured out what he meant a day later, whilst on a mission. She scared her Finder when she suddenly leapt up and snarled.

Damn it all to Hell, was Allen changing her? Mellowing her? Smoothing out the jagged, ragged, edges that cut lesser men to tatters?

She set about creating a begrudging list of ways she appeared to have been altered by the stupid bastard she couldn't seem to stay away from.

Her broader smiles.

Increased capacity for trivial conversation.

Gentler gestures.

Would the old Z have made coffee for the Science Department? Without prompting?

The very thought made her blood boil.

And, to her horror, it wasn't in the bad way.

"What are you making?" She had heard him come in, pull up a chair and sit behind her. Not so close as to invade her thinking space, not so far as to suggest distance. He had been silent up until this point, respecting the fact she appeared to be deep in thought. He must have seen an opening.

Besides, they never were much for talking. As whatever-they-were. It wasn't that they didn't have much in common; they had as much in common as one could expect. But their old ways towards each other –years of hostility and warped friendship- made passive speech nearly impossible for them. Z recalled the boy's tardiness returning from his mission the day before, the hard stone of dread she seemed incapable of shaking. A weight in the center of her breastbone that was either a rift or mountain.

She was certain that he was fine because of course he was because yes he was. And yet there was this little sensation of uncertainty that always appeared when he was engaged in dangerous activities without her there to be sure he wasn't getting himself killed.

Despite her misgivings and the relief that flooded through Z at the sight of him, Allen didn't receive a tearful reception as he stepped from the ark's threshold. Her eyes had been shining, but her mouth was set. "Thought you were dead. You got my hopes up." His eyes were shining too, but he graced her with a well-humored smirk behind his shortened hair. It had been cut due to an unfourtunate moment when Timcampy tangled itself in the strands. "Sorry 'bout that. You're going to have to deal with me a while longer." Her lips twitched with aspirations to become a smile. "Ah."

"Indeed." Of course the way the assortment of Finders and Science department members looked at each other, one would think the two young exorcists had run towards each other and clung together whilst declaring everlasting devotion. Allen had merely come forward and wrapped his fingers in hers. The sensation of his larger hand engulfing hers was too comforting for words.

"_La nourriture. J'ai faim _(food. I'm hungry)." She finally responded to the boy's question, bringing a spoon to her lips for a taste. Needed more curry powder.

"Well yeah," he had come to learn more French. His progress was very impressive. "But what?"

"Spicy pumpkin soup. What are you doing up?" The pattern of Allen's breath changed at the inquiry; he had stiffened. "Well," he said with a nervous laugh "I'm sorta hungry. I could smell you cooking all the way in my room." Z wasn't fooled.

"You had a nightmare." It wasn't a question. After a beat of uncomfortable silence, Allen gave a sigh. "Don't jump to conclusions, Z. Can't you ever take my actions at face value?" She snorted, reducing the heat on her pot and tossing in carrots. She hadn't wanted them to get too mushy, so she added them late in the cooking process.

"I hate it when you try to lie to me. You know that." Allen stood coming to stand behind her. Gentle arms wrapped around her waist and pulled her close. Fire danced in her body from the point of contact and short white tresses brushed her cheek as he buried his face in her shoulder.

"Yes. I know."

"Then why are you doing it?"

"I'm not lying, Zahara. I was never asleep in the first place." She felt him sigh. "I guess I've got too much on my mind. I'll tell you about it soon enough." Z thought for a moment, deciding to be merciful.

"Okay." She felt him relax. Slightly. "Thank you." She grunted and accepted the kiss he brushed against her jaw, turning in his arms to look up at him. "Are you at least hungry?" The young Britain shrugged. "Not really I-" he was interrupted by a low grumbling noise. So loud Tim crawled from his shoulder to hers. He blushed. "Okay. Yes. Yes I am."

"Good. I fear I made too much for one person to eat. Unless that person is you, of course." Allen snorted at the half-hearted egging, accepting the spoon Z forced into his mouth. She watched him roll the soup over his tongue before swallowing. It was easy to tell it was much fierier than the young man was used to, red creeping into his face and a light sheen of sweat appearing on his brow. He took a few breaths as though to quench the burn. "Well?" There were traces of humor in Z's voice when she spoke, eyes still on his face.

Allen licked his lips slowly and Z was embarrassed to find herself tracing the path of his tongue. "It's good." The young woman smirked, bringing up a finger to run across the blush on his face. "Oh? Not too hot for you?" The boy looked down at her, bending a little closer to touch his nose to hers. She felt her eyes falling shut. "Spicier than I usually like, certainly. But absolutely delicious." He brushed his lips against hers, perhaps intending to be chaste with the action.

As the young man pulled away, a content smile on his face, warm toffee fingers wound themselves in the small white hairs at the base of his neck and brought him back down. Not that he could fight it. Z was gentle but insistent, her pace quickly matched by his as she drew his top lip between her teeth. The hands at her waist loosened, freeing themselves to wander on the fabric of her nightshirt. His breathing and heartbeat increased when she began to burrow her fingers deeper into his hair.

Allen crushed Z's body to his and ran his tongue over her mouth, expecting to be granted entrance to allow her a taste of her soup. He couldn't say he was surprised when she parted her lips only to bring her teeth down. The pain wasn't so intense as not to be pleasant, and Allen scoffed into her mouth as he felt her lips twisting into a smirk. Was she looking for a fight? Because he would give her bloody _war._

Z was almost moaning in frustration when he pulled away from her, her lips left cold and lonely for a brief moment. She was silenced when his mouth met her jawline, dangerously close to one of her weak-spots. Paying no heed to the fingers tugging at his hair insistently, Allen persevered down the column of her neck, feeling her trembles increase the closer he came to…

Ah.

_Here._

Z gasped and wriggled as Allen kissed the sensitive joining of her neck and shoulder, fingers failing to defend her at her time of need. "Don't you," she broke off to catch her breath "d-dare mark me, bastard." But Allen paid no heed as he sunk his teeth into her flesh and relished in her desperate cry. She hated the bruise-like splotches he was in the habit of leaving her with, little dots that he would revisit again and again whenever he cornered her. He couldn't help himself, really; it was like a bandit returning to the scene of his treachery. They marked past conquest and she was always too lost in the sensation to stop him.

Z wrapped her arms around his neck and her legs around his waist, pressing their bodies closer. Allen grunted from the added weight but adjusted accordingly, willing to grab her backside to keep steady as they stumbled backwards. He had wandered back to her lips at this point and was steadily devouring her mouth.

Z was content with this, this stupid _wonderful _boy in her arms and the way he seemed just as happy to have her here, with him. The fact that she was wanted in such a way appealed both to her vanity and to her heart of hearts, because she honestly wasn't sure what she would do if this source of light in her life was suddenly extinguished. Perhaps that was what she feared most in allowing this breach of her heart. That he wouldn't like what he found and would vanish just as he had appeared. She was certain she would survive such a thing. But in pieces. Jagged little pieces of the same jagged little girl.

"Z," she heard his heady gasp as he pulled away from her again. Mumbling in frustration, she sought his lips again, only for him to rear back to get her attention. Face a menagerie of scowling and pouting, the young woman glared at the boy before her.

She could hardly remember falling back into the chair Allen sat upon, and could not recall when her hands had found their way under his shirt. There was a certain look of determination in his foggy eyes and she sat back, still straddling him, to hear for what reason he had stopped them.

Rouge steadily gathering on his ivory cheeks, Allen glanced away and back, once again running his tongue over his lips. Was it his intention to make this hard?

"I've been meaning to ask you something for a while now…and I'm not sure how to say it." Tilting her head to the side, Z furrowed her brow. "Simple. Just spit it out, idiot boy."

"Well…" she didn't like this nervousness in him, the way he was rubbing circles on her thigh distractedly. He attempted to turn away again but Z brought her hands to the sides of his face in frustration.

"Look at me and _spit it out,_" came the sour snarl. Allen sighed. "I guess I might as well, huh?"

"Yes. You're pissing me off." The young man chuckled slightly, gently removing Z's touch from his face. Bringing both pairs of hands between them, he gently enveloped her cooler digits in his calloused palms and placed his cheek upon hers. Their heartbeats echoed in the two chests, a game of call and response.

"Zahara," he breathed into her ear and the hairs on the back of her neck stood up. "Do you think we'll survive this war?" What sort of stupid-ass question was that? "Of course, dumbass," she whispered back.

"And, is there the slightest chance you'll still feel this way afterwards?" Again with the idiocy. Because anything was possible and much stranger things had happened in her life, Z said "there's a chance, I suppose."

"Then could you…would you consider…becoming _Mrs. _Allen Walker?" This one threw her for a loop, so much so that the young gypsy jerked away to look the boy dead in the eyes.

He was serious.

Suddenly overcome by the weight, Z felt her face heat up, eyes darting with the same nerves the boy had previously displayed. That would suggest…this would mean…he wanted her…_forever. _The thought scared the Hell out of the girl, rocked her very core. The very idea that _anyone _could stand to be near her for so long was a staggering thought. The very idea that _she _could stand to be near someone for so long was terrifying.

Beyond the fear, beyond the anxiety, something else roared to life. Powerful and intimidating and too _brilliant _to have been spawned in a place such as Z's heart.

And yet there it was.

A crystalline bead of moisture ran from a wide amethyst eye, shocking Allen and making guilt surge through his body. "I'm sorry Z! Just forget-"

"I guess," he stopped at the sound of her whisper "there is a chance…I would consider such a thing." Allen chocked a bit, mouth flapping as he tried to speak. "So that's a…a yes, right?" Z just looked him in the eye, longing to shove him away and pull him closer in the same moment. A weightless sensaion appeared in her limbs and she was afraid she would float off into the sky. "I suppose, idiot boy. Someone has to make sure you don't get yourself killed."

"I…Z…" They sat in stone-still silence for a while, Allen too blissful to speak and Z having said all she needed to say. He brought a hand up to wipe away the single tear on her face, and she leaned into his touch. They were snapped back to reality as a sharp smell hit them.

"My soup!" Z screeched, leaping off his lap and over to the stove. Although she was obviously in a panic, Allen couldn't help but compare her movements to that of a dancer; unconsciously fluid and graceful. It was beautiful how she moved. And spoke with an accent that was all her own. And her sharp mind and forked tongue and the little twitch of the lips that meant she was fighting not to laugh.

She wasn't perfect. No, of course not. Mean old merciless Zahara. A beastly beauty in her own right. But Allen's heart was leaping and his spirit was soaring and his thoughts were limited to _yes, yes, she said yes _as he came to look over her shoulder.

"I think it's okay," she mumbled, placing the lid on the pan and turning off the flame "but you've ruined my appetite." Allen rolled his eyes but draped an arm about her waist. "I don't think I could eat right now either." Z felt her small smile forming and allowed it to grow to radiance. Allen felt his breath catch, marveling at her persistent ability to make him choke. "This was all very pointless," she claimed, but there was no irritation in her voice. Only –dare he think it- elation. "I'm tired and it's all your fault. Help me clean up so we can go to bed."

She arched her body with the pretense of stretching, hand coming to rest upon his. Catching on, Allen looked at her in inquiry. "Are you sure?"

"I wouldn't say anything if I wasn't sure. Besides, my bed is freezing tonight." The amused lilt to her voice brought a gentle smile to Allen's face and he used his arm to reel her closer. "Alright," there was heat in his words "let's hurry."


	5. Chapter 5

**BB says: **It took me forever to get back to this! I just haven't felt all that inspired and I hate writing without a direction. But now I'm back, and so is this story by popular demand. Updates will be slow (school is slowly killing me) but I'll try to keep up with it.

**Rating: **Teen.

**Disclaimer: **I don't know why I always feel the need to make one of these… I own no part of _D. Gray-Man. _And I think it's safe to assume I never will.

**E is for EVE**

Double dating was actually quite awkward for Taz. Always had been, always would be. When Maya or Asia (or even both) would corner her and demand she be dragged behind them as a backup. She was either the victim of a blind date (the best friend of the REAL hottie) or expected to feign illness should the date go badly. Even when she had a boyfriend of her own -temporary guys that never got anywhere with her; eye candy really- the night would wind down into weirdness when the other couple got a bit more…_grabby _then Taz wanted to be with her current date. The boy would always look at her expectantly, like he expected her to suddenly throw herself into his lap.

Needless to say, he was disappointed. As were all the rest. Taz wasn't big on public displays of affection.

So how, after hating double dating for so long and vowing never to do such a thing again, did she end up here?

Lenalee and Lavi sat across from her, gazing longingly into each other's eyes. They were obviously holding hands under the table and seemed to be moments away from an impassioned lip-lock. Taz knew she shouldn't judge them. She knew she shouldn't be rolling her eyes at every caress, every coy giggle. But it was so…_sweet_. It made her jaw ache. She ground her teeth around a sigh, unwilling to offend the smitten couple. They were her friends (she admitted to herself begrudgingly) and there was no point in upsetting them over nothing. This was what people did when they were in love.

Sneaking a glance at Allen, curious as to his thoughts, the girl stifled a laugh.

If it was possible, the boy seemed more embarrassed then she was. His face appeared to have adopted a permanent shade of pink, his fingers nervously toying with his fries as he did all he could to avert his eyes. His free hand, the one lying in the space between himself and Taz, was subtly twitching as though in the throes of a fit. A light knocking caught her attention, and she realizing he was nervously tapping his foot.

Tap.

Tap.

Tap.

Taz set a hand on his knee to stop him. He looked at her. Not in the expectant way past boyfriends had done, but in a desperation that mirrored her own. This time she couldn't hold back the smile, and let it slip across her lips. Allen's face eased slightly at the smile, and he smiled back as Taz waved over the waitress.

She and Allen practically ran from the diner moments later, leaving Lenalee and Lavi to…_whatever _they wanted to do (Taz didn't want to know). It was very cold. A strange bone aching cold that Taz, as a native of the sub-tropic south, had never felt before coming north. It seemed to bite through her jacket with the ferocity of a vengeful animal. It cut to her core and surprised her after the warmth of the diner.

Snow fell heavily. Thick sheets that put the flurries that were easily more than the flurries Taz had seen in the south. It was beautiful and cold, a poetic display of nature that mirrored sorrow. Not the sopping wet of dragging misery, the rain, this was only here for a moment, caressing skin in a chilly embrace before melting away to nothingness.

And as cold and uncomfortable as Taz was, she loved the snow.

A gloved hand found hers and entwined their fingers. She looked up at Allen. His blush was gone but his nose was already turning red because of the cold. He seemed so at home in the snow, white hair and white skin and eyes that were deep gray in the night. Even his jacket, expensive and a much better quality than Taz's- was white, the pattern only broken by his dark blue jeans. The boy studied her face a moment before turning back to watch where they were walking.

"Where are we going?" He spoke quietly, as though afraid of breaking the chilly night. Taz shrugged and squeezed his hand in an attempt to drain warmth from it. "Don't know. Just didn't feel as though we belonged there anymore." Allen chuckled in agreement and they fell into silence again. Taz rather liked their silences. Nothing needed to be said in them.

"A movie, perhaps?" Allen spoke again. "Isn't there some sort of Holiday movie about this time of year?" Taz rolled her eyes in good humor. "Isn't there always?"

"Is that a no?"

"It's a 'come up with something else', but not a definitive no." Allen snorted. "You are so difficult."

"And you're a poof." She gazed at a cloud of breath as it drifted up and away from her, dispersing into the air. They were upon central park before they knew it, Allen tugging her toward a bench. As soon as they were seated he began opening the bag containing their dinner and Taz watching him in amusement. Of course his appetite had returned. Taz was always fascinated by the boy's appetite. She had always thought the richer you were, the less you ate. Like those tiny portions served at those fancy restaurants were really all they needed. She used to scoff with her friends about such things.

Friends that she would be seeing soon. She should be happy. But leaving New York was…sad, for her, somehow.

Allen's rustling stopped and she opened her eyes without realizing she had shut them. He was studying her ponderously, a gentle smile on his face.

"Tired, Love?" She grunted at the endearment and drew closer to his warmth. He hummed. "You have snowflakes on your eyelashes." The hand that grabbed her chin was bare; he always took off his gloves to touch her intimately. Warmth lips pressed to her eyes, melting the alleged snow that had gathered there. Once finished with their duty, they wandered down her face to press a warm kiss to her chilled nose. Both her cheeks. Taz's hands found the lapels of Allen's coat and dragged him closer as his lips found her mouth.

The bag of food fell to the ground as Allen tugged her forward onto his lap. The kiss was slow and gentle but impassioned. His hand found her face, gently tracing her cheek before retreating to her hip. She sat fully on his legs, angling his neck to keep his face close to hers. He broke away and looked her in the eyes as their breathing continued to mingle. "You're cold."

"It's cold tonight."

"I can feel you shaking through your jacket." She shrugged but couldn't deny it, not in her flustered state. She could barely think of her own name at the moment, and hated it when Allen made her forget such things. He often did it just to break her train of thought and interrupt her homework when she came to see him. He would play the piano and she would wonder the proper usage of the word "enjambment" and then the music would stop. He would wander over to the couch where she was sprawled in his huge townhouse (or the one that belong to that bastard, Cross). And he would distract her.

Like now. She should really be getting back to her dorm room but Allen had dragged her away from the path home. He was currently watching her as though formulating a plan. Taz yelped as she was suddenly jostled her sharply on his lap. She wrapped her arms around his neck before she could be thrown to the ground, growling low in her throat.

"What the fuck are you doing?" A pale hand wandered to the zipper on her jacket, dragging it down even as its partner undid the buttons on Allen's coat to reveal the sweater he had underneath. It was Christmas green and at odds with the plum purple of Taz's shirt. His hand extended itself back to her hip, pulling her close and pushing their upper bodies together.

The warmth of the boy's chest made Taz relax despite the fact she was twisted rather awkwardly on his lap. Her forehead was resting on his neck and their hearts echoed each other as she calmed in his embrace. "Can't have you freezing on me," Allen whispered into her hair. She adjusted in response, wrapping her arms under his coat and around his waist. She was going home the next morning, riding down to be with family for the holidays. Admittedly, at this point it was only the novelty of watching her cousin Tim open his presents that she looked forward to. She and her Aunt Klaud had agreed to spend most of the Christmas money on making the little boy smile.

But Christmas was Christmas. And she was going home.

"Are you going to miss me, Zahara?" Taz stiffened at the boy's ability to read her mind but didn't answer. She didn't know what to say. Missing him would suggest that he was someone important. A part of her life that she couldn't be without. Was it that way? So extreme? The only people she had in that shriveled part of her heart was her Aunt, her cousin, and her two best friends. Everyone else she could do without. She would survive as she always had in the past. Even Lenalee. Even Lavi. Even Al…

Her breathing hitched. She attributed it to the cold.

They had not gotten under her skin. She hadn't known them long enough for that. Four months was not long enough to break through to Taz. She refused to be so weak.

They sat in silence after Allen's question. A thin-boned hand with long fingers played with Taz's hair. Something he knew she liked. She sighed.

Under her skin.

Her departure at the bus station really wasn't dramatic. They all knew she would be back in a few weeks, and took the chance to request souvenirs.

Lavi was pouting. "I want a boom-stick. You guys have those right?" Taz sighed for the thousandth time, looking at Lenalee helplessly. The Chinese girl shrugged. "No, Lavi. I'm not _that _country."

"But you'll bring back pictures, right?" Lenalee perked up. "I've always wanted to visit the southeast."

"Yeah. Sure."

Allen was silent, his hands clutched around Taz's travel bag. She had wanted to carry it herself but the boy was an adamant gentleman. He didn't speak as she was loaded, his only goodbye a deep kiss on the steps of the bus. She sighed against his mouth. "See ya later."

He nodded, taking away his hand from where it held hers.

Aunt Klaud met her at the bus station and took her to lunch. Tim blathered about the trials of fifth grade the entire time, and Taz listened kindly to her younger cousin. His brown eyes were sparkling and she noticed that he seemed to have grown in the short time she was gone. She sighed but smiled, tugging on his black hair to earn an offended cry.

As Taz reached to get her wallet to pay, Aunt Klaud stopped her. The girl looked at her oddly. "Do you know what this is?" the woman asked her niece, oddly blue eyes cutting through her niece. She was extremely light skinned, the color of honey, and had blonde hair. She held a sheet of paper between two manicured fingers.

It was a copy of Taz's midterm grades. The college student shrugged.

"Grades. So?"

"What sort of grades, Zahara?"

"Don't know. Didn't check before I left." Taz's aunt slammed the paper to the table face up. The hot sauce tipped over. Taz was glad the lid was still on it.

Political Science: A

Mathematical Theory: A

English Literature: A

French: A

Communication: A

*candidate for President's list

When she looked up, Aunt Klaud had a small smile on her face. It made her eyes sparkle. "You are not paying for your own food today, Zahara," the woman said calmly. "I'm much too proud of you to let you." A grin tickled at Taz's lips, but she tried to remain passively cool.

"Thank you Auntie Klaud."

"Just keep doing well in school, Zahara. You're going places."

They drove home afterwards, and Taz had never been happier to see the overgrown yard in front of their two-story home. It was a nice enough house, well maintained and clean. An old sign on the installed privacy fence read 'beware of dog' (although the dog, Scuffles, was very little and very lazy) and the blinds in the windows were meticulously dusted. The screen door creaked as Taz opened it, and she followed the scuffed tile floor into the house.

Aunt Klaud already had the tree set up in the living room, most of the ornaments homemade and heavy with the scent of sentimentality. The old plastic tree, losing needles as it did every year, was shorter than Taz (although she distinctly remembered looking _up _at it in her childhood) and fake snow had been sprinkled upon it. Although they didn't get snow often, her family was among the group of southerners who liked to pretend.

Taz liked snow. Or, rather, the way snow looked sprinkled in white hair.

She stepped closer to the tree, plugging the lights in and watching it light up.

The star had been replaced with a dark skinned angel. With a jolt, Taz recognized the face.

"Looks just like her, doesn't it?" She hadn't heard Klaud behind her until the taller woman was at her elbow. "I saw it at the story and couldn't resist it. I think it's good of her to join us for the holidays."

Taz didn't speak, looking into the eyes of the angel that had her mother's face. Beautiful and solemn, regal cheeks and noble chin. Her hands were extended palm upwards, like she was offering a warm embrace, her dress and wings golden as the light-up halo accentuated her face. Mercedes had been a beautiful woman, a fact that Taz was reminded of whenever she looked in a mirror.

She knew she was pretty. She looked too much like her mother not to be.

"I miss her so much. Sadie would be so proud of you," Klaud whispered. Taz cringed and snatched herself away as the woman tried to put a hand on her shoulder. Mercedes had been Klaud's older sister, and the woman had always defended her. Even after death.

"Only if she was sober at the moment. And she _wouldn't _be, Auntie. She hardly ever was." With that, the young woman stomped up the stairs to put her bags in her room.

It wasn't that Taz hadn't loved her mother. She was just unsure if her mother returned the sentiment. She had scars that protested otherwise.

Her cellphone rang. She snatched it from her pocket with near aggression.

Allen.

"Hello?"

"Taz? It's Allen."

"Caller ID had existed for almost forty years."

"Right. I was just making sure you made it home okay." Taz paused, guilty that she had snapped at the boy. "Yeah. I'm fine."

"A smooth trip?"

"Like cracked pavement." He hummed in response and she could hear the lid of a piano click. Open or closed, it didn't matter. "Are you alright, Taz? You seem…upset." The girl frowned and kicked her shoes off. "I'm fine. I just…I just got home. I'm tired."

"Oh?" Allen's voice was humoring. "Alright. Take a nap and I'll talk to you later."

"Yeah."

"One more thing, Taz."

"Yeah?" The boy seemed to hesitate a bit. "Do you…miss me?" Taz felt that same stifling feeling she had felt when he first asked her the night before. The same uncertainty that was almost pain in her chest. "I…you don't give me a chance to, you idiot." Allen was quiet a moment. "Alright. I'll talk to you later." And he hung up.

Taz threw her body onto the mattress she'd had for nearly a decade. It was good to be home.

She spun in front of her mirror a few nights later, inspecting herself. Maya and Asia had demanded her attention for a night of fun. A club, a party, and stealing Asia's dad's stash of alcohol. The older man didn't seem to mind; he was used too wiped from work to notice anyway.

Taz wrinkled her nose as she found a loose strand on her little black dress. The hem ended just above her knees, tight to accentuate her bust and bottom, straps wrapped about her neck halter style. She snatched the sting off with a grimace on her lightly made up face, and stomped downstairs in her heels.

"Bye!" She called behind her as she slammed the door shut. Asia and Maya were waiting in Asia's beat up old four door. "'Bout time! What were you doing? It's not like you have much to work with!" Taz rolled her eyes and slid into the back seat. "The first time you see my face in _months _and you immediately try to start something? Dumb bitch." Maya stuck out her tongue. "I'm a _sexy _bitch, thank you very much."

"Damn. Way to ruin the word 'sexy'. It is now the same as stupid."

"In that case, you have got to be the _sexiest _girl I have ever seen."

"You're both stupid as Hell. The end," Asia interjected. Maya giggled and Taz smiled. The car smelled of cigarettes and wet carpeting, of perfume and fast food. "What've y'all been up to?" Taz asked, easily slipping back into casual southern twang her voice took when relaxed. She could count on one hand the people who had heard it back north.

Lenalee and Lavi, of course.

And Allen.

"You know. Stuff. Found this amazing piece of meat in my sociology class. I was all up in that, you kno-" Taz's phone rang.

Allen. She held up a finger to Maya, and the girl raised a brow.

"Hello?"

"Taz?"

"About time. You haven't called me in days."

"I didn't have anything to say." That had never stopped him before. Allen wasn't clingy, but he seemed to have inferiority issues. He placed himself at her beck and call, sometimes phoning her just to ask about her day. She had assured him, in her own snarky way, that he wasn't her pet; he needn't run to her so often. She was rather content in what they had going and he didn't have to worry she would vanish on him. He had looked at her in an intense way before tugging her close and mushing their lips together in a bruising kiss.

"I might just smother you?"

"Maybe."

"Good."

A shiver had run down Taz's spine at that one word, his eyes heated and honest as they gazed at her. She had never thought the idea of being smothered could be so appealing until Allen. His possessiveness made her feel unbelievably important. Unbelievably beautiful.

She missed piano keys. Reflected in focused grey eyes.

"I thought you didn't like me to call you every day." Taz remembered her current conversation when Allen spoke again. "I didn't say that. I said you might smother me."  
>Allen chuckled. "Well, I was just calling you to ask a question." Taz looked up, noticing Maya and Asia were silent. Sneaky bitches were listening to her conversation.<p>

"What?"

"Do you miss me?"

Lungs froze over. A heart stuttered. Taz's face pinched.

"You called me to ask one question? Were you bored or something?" Allen laughed again, but something was missing. The laugh was forced. "Alright, alright. I know when I'm not wanted. Bye." And he hung up. Taz uttered a curse at her phone. "That was the second time that bastard has hung up on me!"

Taz woke up with a hangover, but it was gone by noon. She and Maya had spent the night at Asia's, and the taller girl driven them home after they were all awake and in less pain. Taz's shoes were in her hand as she slid in the front door.

"Eight days until Christmas!" Taz spent the afternoon in the kitchen with Tim, making cookies. Aunt Klaud liked the smell they gave the house, and insisted it wasn't Christmas without an abundance of pastries and cocoa. Her son always spent the last days before the holiday on a sugar high, bouncing up and down on the balls of his feet and constantly reminding everyone how close to Christmas they were. The only reprieve came when he went out with his friends, although he would occasionally invite them in.

And then Taz knew what true suffering was like.

She missed silence. The occasional rumble of a voice.

"Six days until Christmas!" And Taz had not heard from Allen. She told herself she didn't care. He was too overbearing anyway. Too clingy. Bastard. She went out shopping with Maya and Asia.

"Four days until Christmas!" Taz was antsy, trying not to take it out on her Aunt and cousin but she knew they noticed. She ignored most food, save for sweet comfort food. Her already seldom smiles all but vanished, her eyes seemed perpetually downcast above her eternally scowling mouth. She knew something was wrong now and, try as she might, she couldn't determine why she cared so much. He was expendable in the end. She would still be here, she would still be Taz without him. She didn't need anyone.

The smell of paper with songs scribbled across. Red noses on pale faces.

"Two days until Christmas!" And Allen called her. Taz let it ring and ring and ring, fighting down the eagerness that came from nowhere. When he hung up, she called him back. In control.

"Hey."

"Hello Taz." His voice was impersonal. Dismissive. It pissed her off.

"What is it Allen? I'm busy." Busy sitting in her room and waiting for something, anything to happen. Not Allen calling, of course. Because even without him she was Taz. Her happiness did not depend on him.

"I won't keep you long. I just wanted to ask-"

"One question, right? That stopped being funny weeks ago." Taz snarled. "What is with you? What do you want? Say what you want instead of just throwing your passive aggressive bullshit into my face! Gonna ignore me for _days _like you're _punishing_ me. What the fuck? Am I dating a pissed off _girl_? If there's something you want then just say it!" Allen didn't answer. She roared. "WHAT IS IT?" The boy sighed forlornly and she was angered to find he wasn't offended at her outburst. His anger was almost so much easier to take then his passive dejection.

"I just…I want to know if you miss me. If you…" He didn't finish. Taz put her hand on her cocked hip. "If I what, Allen? Articulate." The boy failed twice when he tried to speak.

"I…do you miss me, Zahara?" The girl's eyes narrowed before flaring into disks. For the first time, she heard more in that question than the obvious. Something in his saddened voice, in the low way he was speaking. As though scared. Hurt. Four letters. Words with four letters.

"I just wanted to know if you miss me like I miss you."

_I wanted to know if you love me like I love you._

Her mouth went instantly dry, a high pitched squeak escaping her parted lips as her mouth flapped soundlessly. Her mind was failing to process the new information, running like it was working on a particularly difficult problem. An answer that was somehow so obvious and yet so twisted it was resistant to explanation. She couldn't…she couldn't…

She was incapable of such love. It took longer than a semester to win her heart.

But…

"…Allen," her voice was so soft it barely registered with her own ears. "I…" his end was silent. She believed he had hung up. "I do miss you..."

"It's Christmas eve!" And all Taz did was sleep.

Christmas morning was the same as always. Both Taz and Tim awoke to one bite taken from one cookie on the plate they had left for "Santa". One sip of milk. The base of the tree was littered with presents addressed to a good little boy and, to Taz's surprise, more than one was for her. She raised her tired eyes to her aunt, noticing the woman was watching her carefully. She knew something was bothering her niece, something was hurting her. But she also knew the girl would not talk about it if she didn't want to.

"Thought I'd help you out a bit. You're a starving college student now."

"But…but I only got you one present." The older woman rolled her eyes and perched on the arm of the sofa. She was wearing the candy-cane flannel pajamas Taz had bought her the year previous. This year the girl had saved money to buy the foot massager she had seen her aunt eyeing.

"Haven't I raised you better than that? It's not the amount of gifts," she looked at her son, who was meticulous and eager in the opening of his gifts. His eyes shimmered with each toy, each piece of candy. He grinned brightly at his mother. "It's the love." Taz smiled wearily. "Yeah. Thank you, Auntie." The woman grunted, but gave her niece a small smile. After opening gifts –Taz received a coffee maker, pajamas (with little doggies that looked like Scuffles), a new white board for her dorm room, and new slippers- Tim retreated to play with his new scooter outside, and Taz went to help her aunt make dinner.

She wondered how Allen spent his Christmas. If his family was as hectic and warm as this one. If he was now taking stock of gifts. Sitting in front of his new piano and playing with a new songbook, new collar around Timcampy's neck. Was he thinking about her? Maybe he was swept away by Christmas party after party, too busy to spare her a thought. She wondered if he had already dismissed her.

She shook her head and growled at her thoughts as she peeled potatoes, earning a glance from Aunt Klaud. "Are you alright, Zahara?"

"Yes, I'm-"

"Don't lie. You're bad at it." The girl wrinkled up her face but didn't respond. Her aunt scoffed. "I can't make you talk. But if you want to, I'm right here. All ears." Taz nodded, eyes only for her task. The sun was already setting; she had to finish the mashed potatoes. Dinner was in an hour.

Her phone rang. She heard it from the kitchen. She had left it in the living room. She wasn't sure if she wanted to pick up, wasn't sure if she wanted to know what it had to say. "Are you going to get that?" Aunt Klaud asked casually, turning from the stove to look at her niece. The girl shrugged stiffly and stood. "Right. Be right back."

"You do that."

Taz glared at her phone like it would bite her. Steven Krauss' _Kaleidoscope _continued to play.

"Zahara?" She held her breath, waiting for him to continue. His voice was light and casual; she supposed it was simple enough to walk away from this. They had only been dating for a few months. It was nothing all that serious.

"Where are you, right now?" She gave a weak scoff, trying to ignore the wrenching crackling in her chest as she sat on a leather sofa. "Home. Where else?"

"126 Luther Avenue? The furthermost house in the cul-de-sac?"

"What? Why?"

The doorbell rang. Tim was home and Taz stood to open the door. "No reason. Tell me, have you had a Happy Christmas?" She rolled her eyes. "As well as any other. Not that you care."

"Don't I?" The girl opened the door to let Tim in. "No, you…" her voice died in her throat.

He was wearing a white button down, his hair tied back and out of his face. Black slacks that led down to black shoes. His eyes were a shimmery blue in the light of her porch, nothing but the screen door separating them.

"I've got to go," he murmured into the phone he held against his ear, never breaking eye contact. She nodded. "Y-yeah. Me too." They looked at each other through the mesh as Taz hesitated. She closed the door as she opened the screen and joined him.

Allen seemed incapable of taking his eyes off her and she was embarrassed by his scrutiny. A bandana held back her tangled hair. She was wearing a stained t-shirt two sizes too big and a pair of faded, hole riddled jeans.

"Is it always this hot in the winter?" Taz jumped as Allen broke the silence. "Y-yeah. It usually doesn't get very cold until January." Allen nodded his eyes glowing. Gazing around the boy, Taz noted a Lexus, very shiny and new looking, in the driveway.

"I thought you hated driving in America."

"I do. I flew most of the way. I couldn't drive from England, anyway." Taz frowned to hide her own uncertainty. "You were in England."

"I returned home for the holidays."

"And you turned right around and came here? Quite the detour, don't you think?" Allen raised an eyebrow as a smile crawled onto his face. Taz stiffened when his hand came forward to draw her into his body. Their faces were inches from each other, his gaze burning and hooded and focused. "Taz," he breathed onto her lips. She shivered as his thumb rubbed her back. "Did you miss me?" Her expanding heart smothered her lungs; she couldn't find the breath to respond.

"Come on, you said it once. Would it be so hard to say again?" The girl felt her tongue swell stubbornly. She was unconsciously too stubborn to bow to him, even now. A scarred hand traced the line of her jaw. "Taz?"

"I…I didn't miss you at all. I didn't sit around and wait for you to call, and all I can feel is dismay and repulse now that you are here." Allen sealed their lips together, laughing into her mouth. His hand wound itself into her hair and forced her closer, her fingers kneading into his shirt desperately. He was kissing her so hard she was forced into the door behind them. A moan echoed through her mouth and she honestly couldn't tell who it was but it was so good and hot and he was here. He flew to her home town just to see _her._

Was she that important? She didn't think so.

She broke the kiss, attempting, in vain, to escape. "You idiot! That was a waste of time and money. You could have just called me." She turned her head from his face. "Why are you here? I hope you don't expect me to do the same for you, because I can't afford a ticket to-"

Allen sighed loudly, comically, before pressing his mouth to the ear she had given him. "You're so difficult, Taz." He took a moment to bite on her ear. She shuddered despite herself. "It was cute at first. But you can be so frustrating when all I need," he sighed, warm breath brushing Taz's neck. "All I need is for you to be honest." The girl shook her head and rolled her eyes, wrapping her arms around Allen's waist.

"Bastard. I'm nothing _but_ honest." Allen hummed but didn't argue. He entwined their fingers and kept them together as he released her from their breathless embrace. He was blushing heavily, his eyes still a bit glazed, but his smile was radiating pure hearted affection. "I, um, I didn't come empty handed. I brought you and your family presents."

"You didn't have to."

"Yes, I did. My uncle insisted." Taz raised her brow. The same uncle of the same family that frowned upon riffraff? That kicked the common man to the curb? _He _told Allen to bring presents to his middle class girlfriend's family?

Reading Taz's mind (and not really trying hard to) the boy shrugged. "He was…amused that I wanted to jump on the next plane to South Carolina. He must think this is just another frivolous fancy."

"And? Is it?" His eyes hardened for a moment. "You know better than to ask that, Zahara." She smiled stupidly but couldn't help it. "Right." His eyes softened again, his fingers squeezing hers. "Come on. It's almost dinnertime. And I want you to meet my family."

"Your presents-"

"Idiot. It's not about the gifts."


	6. Chapter 6

**BB says: **I'm thinking about upping this story to M…partly because I've been asked to, partly because I want to.

**Rating: **Teen…for now. I'll let you know when I change it

**Disclaimer: **I own no part of _D. Gray-Man, _anime, manga, or merchandise.

**F is for FRAGMENTS**

**Threats**

It only took a few weeks really. "I'm gonna carve out your heart and eat it with gravy!" When did she get so cute?

**Silence**

A world without music is like a body without a heart. Without anything to move it forward, what would happen? What could happen? Z thought, maybe, she could see why the Musician was considered such an anomaly. But if it meant that Allen would vanish…

Then this was better.

**Pet**

They just slipped out most of the time, although other times Allen may have done it on purpose. Just to see the dark cloud fall over her face and her teeth begin to grind. But behind everything dark and angry in those burning soulful pools, was something so beautiful the yearning was too much at times. His heart would ache for the sight of it, something that brushed the surface of a deep, warm sea.

"_Come on, Love."_

"_Pet."_

"_Dearest."_

**Twinkle**

Their eyes were as big as their dreams. She wondered how their little hearts could take it. But take it they did. Orphans with smiles and hopes as she travelled, misplaced reservations forcing her to share her train cabin. She was irritated (or at least frowned) but it was difficult to remain upset with the children when they all fell asleep at once. She was buried in a pile of sticky fingers and snotty noses, messy heads on her lap and a little hand wrapping itself in hers. When her journey ended she was surprised at how hard it was to pry herself away.

She could but she couldn't. She looked into his eyes that were a shimmering blue as they watched the train continue on. He smiled slightly when their gazes met. She frowned at him.

_"I want you to know I hate children."_

**Chill**

He wasn't sure if it was common or not, but at night his battles came back to haunt him. Those lost tore at him with their anger and sadness, his eye and his arm and his scars aching even in his sleep. A weight on his chest, a frost biting at his heart. He would awake in a cold sweat, shaking and alone, feeling like a lost child as Timcampy arose from rest to flutter about in question. He would lie there, staring at the ceiling, until a tear stained face filled his vision.

Ah. The first time he had seen her cry.

She never stirred when she heard him enter her room night. Did not resist him when she felt him crawl into bed beside her. And could not respond when he whispered into her hair, believing her to be asleep.

"_I'm sorry."_

**Wonderland**

He was an enigma to her in more than one way. His smile, his laugh, his gaze that was somehow both happy and fearful. But if there was one thing that held her attention, it was his body.

It surprised her.

Not the scars or the strength or the paleness. The hair.

Allen had a feel about him, something that spoke of innocence and purity. An ongoing childlike wonder that was elfin in nature and called to the predator lurking beneath Z's skin. She wickedly liked the loss of innocence in his gaze, the fiery growling in his chest, the filth she felt she was dragging him through with every encounter. Because there was still a part of her that remembered being shunned, being hated by his people, those of a pale complexion and sneering eyes. What would they say if they knew what she was now doing with one of them? Of the sin she was continuously wrapping him in? This was a bold rebellion against their judgment, against their ignorant hatred and taunts. The wicked woman of the night had captured of their light spawn and had no intention of letting him go. His purity had been taken long ago.

This couldn't last forever. Not in their world. But he would forever carry her mark upon his body.

Yes, this view of life helped her to forget that he was a man (young, but still) and that men were hairy as testament to their masculinity.

There was a little forest of snow on his chest, softer than fleece, but present. A bush of frost under either arm. And the little path of coarse flurries that led beneath the waistline of his pants. She liked to brush her fingers there and listen to his breath hitch at her gentle touch. Watching his eyes burn the way a man looks at a woman.

"_Do _that _and you'll be limping on your next mission."_

**Respect**

Mana had tried his hardest to make Allen a gentleman. A clown gentleman…it was somehow funny and sad. And though the lessons had not really stuck with the boy until after the death of his father, he still attempted to be reasonable and kind. To be courteous and maintain a chivalrous façade when dealing with women and their eccentricities.

Lavi said the opposite gender was not meant to be understood. Allen saw the wisdom in those words.

But his proper behavior always seemed to fail him at the least opportune times. Like when Z silently worked in the kitchen after hours, baking a pie simply because she wanted to (it would not go to waste with a whole castle of people to feed) and Allen had looked up from his book merely by chance. He caught her is a very…_sensuous _position, posterior in the air as she bent to place her work in the oven.

Women are _not _objects.

Damn his eyes for not listening.

**Afraid**

It was dull, her sense numb as she sat on the grounds alone. It seemed as though he had taken the air from the world, the light from the sky, when he left. It had been going very well, dark thoughts retreating in the wake of a lovely day and nature bending into spring. There were birds and bunnies and butterflies and every other beautiful thing to make Lenalee hum with joy. The young woman loved the spring.

Their sparing matches had not changed at all. Crown Clown and Beastly Beauty, they still sought to hurt each other, still struck and struggled like their lives depended on victory. Occasionally their frequent stalemates would tilt one way or another and the victor would boast mercilessly as the loser brooded from the side. A win that would last until suppertime, when it would be forgotten in favor of another argument, another battle. But this was not one of those times.

She lay back, still panting, pretending he was there to and not off somewhere, cowering. He had fled her response, fled perceived pain, abandoning her to her thoughts. She wished he had just kept his words to himself rather than torment her in such a manner. She hoped he was now struggling as she was with words and feelings that were too large not to be feared.

"_I love you."_

She had not known it was possible for one's heart to break whilst soaring.

**Green**

There was something wrong. He wasn't hungry. And he was _Allen, _for God's sake! Popular belief was that he was hungry all the time (mostly true).

His eyes were glued to her back, watching her flit from group to group with her escort. _His_ arm was draped about her waist, and Allen watched it closely to be sure the undercover Finder didn't get too gutsy with the equally secretive exorcist. These galas allegedly led to deaths, the disappearance of one couple every time one was held. Nothing would be found but dust and clothes, a scene that stunk of akuma.

And if there were akuma, there could be Innocence.

A stakeout was called for. And, for the sake of the mission, their varied assignments would not have two exorcists being seen together. In case it was another case of humans helping The Earl. So a young Finder by the name of Stephen was called upon to take Mademoiselle Zahara to the gala, his face lighting up too much (in Allen's opinion) when the idea was presented. And though Zahara had only agreed begrudgingly she seemed to be having a fine time. Smiling and giggling and swatting at the blushing Finder like he was the most charming man in the world.

It was sickening.

Allen was only aware Lavi had been talking when the redhead stopped, a knowing smirk on his face.

_"Are you jealous?"_

**Soup**

She detested being ill. The aches, the sniffles, the chills; the whole affair was far from pleasant and it always put her in a foul mood. All avoided Z on the rare occasions that her immune system failed her just long enough for a sneaky virus to wiggle in, for they knew that though all she wanted to do was sleep she would find just enough energy to throw something at anyone who dared disturb her peace. But in was in the best interest of the Order for all their exorcists to be healthy and stay as such for as long as possible. Therefore, she could not be left alone until she was up on her feet again in tip top shape.

The first to come was Komui, offering one of his accursed inventions as a cure all.

"The all new nurse Komurin III will end all your aches and woes! With its assistance, you'll be on your feet in mere hours, ready to once again fight the good fight, Z!" She looked at him with hooded eyes, sniffling a bit and rubbing at her red nose with a tissue. The "miracle" he offered was about the height of its inventor, thin with many arms brandishing various medical equipment. A stethoscope, a tongue depressor, aspirin, and a syringe all flying through the air as an eager robotic voice said "cure, cure! I care for you!" Z slowly got out of her bed, cracking her back before lifting the robot and using it as a weapon to slam Komui out of her room. Reever gazed out the door his superior had flown through.

"Yeah. I wouldn't have believed him either."

Next was Johnny. Z rather liked Johnny. He had a very healthy fear of her, wrapped in the tender sweetness of a boy half his age. Perhaps they thought she wouldn't be able to bring herself to harm him?

"Hi Z," he greeted shyly, eyes obscured by his thick glasses. "How're you feeling?" She mumbled a response that was uncommitted, eyes stubbornly shut and willing the young scientist to go away. "Well, the science department has whipped up something to help you." He pulled out a bottle with several radioactive warning stickers on it. "TA DA! The ultimate immune booster! Guaranteed to kill whatever virus is attacking your body right now! We've been looking for an opportunity to test it, and this is perfect! You'll be up and walking around before the end of the day, healthier than you've ever been and-" The glare she sent him made him feel cold inside. Like his soul was dying.

"O-okay then. I'll just…just leave it here in case you change your mind…" he fled.

Third time was the charm! In strode Bookman Jr. with his confident gait and winning grin. "Z! Heard you're under the weather!" She huffed and rolled over. "Well, I've been reading up on these medieval cures and I think, and don't shoot me down just yet, what you need are good ole leeches!" No one knows what happened after that. The bloody pulp that had once been Lavi was too traumatized to talk about it.

What could they do? Everybody was shot down as soon as they entered her room! Lenalee and Kanda were on a mission and the Matron was busy in the medical ward (plus anyone who dared to tattle on Z would be doomed as soon as she recovered). What could they do? Who could they send?

There was a knock at her door. She didn't respond but he entered anyway.

She hadn't seen him like this in what felt like years, a white button down shirt and a dark blue vest. Gloves on his hands, tight black pants and boots. His white hair was pulled out of his face and a look of determination was in his eyes. She sighed a bit as she sat up. "What?" she snapped, refusing to allow her eyes to rove any further. Allen huffed, entering the room and shutting the door behind him. "You can't scare me, Z. You're sick. And you're going to get better one way or another." He dragged a chair up to her bed from whence it had been hiding in the corner of her room, soup and a mug of sweet smelling tea perched on a tray which was placed on her nightstand.

"No gimmicks. No medicine. Just soup and tea," he nodded and crossed his arms, confident in his words. "Honestly, with everyone hounding you like this it's no wonder you're in a foul mood. I thought to give you space but I can't stand watching this any longer. Komui is covered in bruises, Johnny won't stop shaking and what the Hell did you do to Lavi? Everyone is too scared to even approach your room!" Z didn't respond, blinking at him. He growled, lifting a spoon of soup to her lips. "Okay then. If you're not going to talk, then eat." She wrenched her mouth shut, glaring at him. "You first," she croaked in suspicion. He frowned. "It's not drugged, Z. No scientist or Bookman fingers have touched it."

"Then eat some." He sighed as though she was being terribly disagreeable, lips puckering as he blew on the spoon and stuck it in his mouth. "There. It's not as spicy as you normally like, but it's still really good. Typical of Jerry. And I know you're hungry by now." His tongue slid over his lips, catching the last vestiges of the soup, eyes never leaving with his obstinate woman. He helped himself to another spoonful, but before his tongue could dart out again a dark hand had grabbed a fistful of his collar. He was snatched forward with such force Z must have been using a bit of her Innocence, Allen's body dragged onto the bed as she slammed her lips into his. Fingers pulled at his tie and the buttons of his vest, a leg hooked around his waist. He didn't resist as she forced his mouth open, delving deep into the warmth that was chill in comparison to her fever.

He wrenched himself away after a few minutes, red in his cheeks and his lips turning a cherry pink from abuse. The grey in his eyes grew thick with stormy heat as he looked at her, the top of his shirt undone and his vest long gone. "You clever girl," his glare was nowhere near was forceful as he wanted it to be, not with her straddling him like she was. "You tricked me." She smirked in response, eyes shining hotly as she nibbled at the rim of his bottom lip.

Needless to say, the next morning cracked upon two sick exorcists, tangled in sheets. Z didn't mind, as she wrapped her body around the grumbling (and beautifully bare) Allen. Misery loves company.


End file.
